


Full Steam Ahead

by silverfirelizard53



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Unplanned Pregnancy, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfirelizard53/pseuds/silverfirelizard53
Summary: Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley are engaged to be married, but they are in no hurry to tie the knot. When a freak accident starts off chain of bad luck, will the two be able to adapt to a major change in their plans? *This is the story of James Sirius Potter, and the series of events that brought him into the world.*





	1. Prologue: Murphy's Law

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Full Steam Ahead is a continuation of my other story "Babysitting Teddy", although it is not necessary to have read that story before reading this one. Essentially, the only thing you need to know is that Harry and Ginny are engaged. Also, Ginny made the English National Team. I will continue writing Toy Soldier while I work on this one. Toy Soldier is more serious/darker, so I needed a fun project to distract me. Thanks! I hope you enjoy! -Silver

### PROLOGUE: Murphy’s Law

_He stood up and yanked open his sock drawer. There, buried amongst all his mismatched socks, was a small little box. Grasping it in his hands, Harry turned back to Ginny, whose face widened in shock. He knelt down beside her._

_“Ginevra Molly…” he started._

_She grimaced. “Please don’t call me that!”_

_“Sorry,” Harry apologized. “Ginny, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”_

_“A thousand times over, Harry, yes.”_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Harry raced down the hallway of St. Mungo’s, his heart beating a violent tattoo against the bones in his chest. Before he could get to the fifth door on the left, however, Molly Weasley intervened. She stood before him so that he had to slide to a halt on the white linoleum floors. Although she was a good foot shorter than him, she grasped his shoulders with every bit of authority she could muster. Her brown eyes were stern but understanding. They reflected the same concern and anxiety that was currently rushing through Harry’s body.

“What happened?” he asked desperately.

“She fell,” Molly said. “The Healers are with her right now, but you can’t go back yet. We’ll know more in a bit.”

It was then that Harry noticed just how much he was shaking. He collapsed into one of the chairs that lined the walls, running a hand over his face and into his hair, nearly dislodging his glasses in the process. Molly sat down in the seat next to him, one gentle hand resting on the curve of his spine. They were not alone. Charlie sat in the chairs opposite them. 

“Did you see it?” Harry asked, his voice raspy.

Charlie looked nearly white as ghost. “Yeah. It was bad.”

“What happened?” Harry repeated.

“She and the chaser from France both went for the Quaffle at the same time. They collided mid-air. The other guy managed to hang on, but Ginny lost her grip. She hit the ground head-first.”

Harry moaned, dropping his head between his knees. “Why didn’t the safety spells catch her?”

“The fact that she’s still alive means they were working,” Charlie said.

There were several more voices coming from down the hallway, and Molly rose to intercept them as well. The first to arrive was Ron, who was pale beneath the splash of freckles across his nose. Seconds behind him, and panting slightly, was Hermione. Like Harry, she had come from work. The Ministry badge still sat on the front of her robes.

“What’s going on?” Ron demanded. “Someone on the radio said that she had been injured!”

“She fell,” Charlie repeated. “Hit her head.”

Hermione clutched a stitch in her side. “Oh shit,” she breathed.

If the situation had been different, Harry might have teased her for swearing, which she rarely did. However, with Ginny’s fate still unknown, he could do little more than rock back and forth in his seat. His hands were practically knotted in his unkempt hair. “I should have been there,” he said.

“Don’t be stupid,” Ron replied, dropping into the seat on Harry’s other side. “You wouldn’t have been able to catch her.”

“She was killing it, too,” Charlie added bitterly. “Scored ninety points on her own. Damn France.”

They waited for what felt like an eternity to Harry before a Healer stepped out into the hallway, peeling off sterile gloves and sticking them into the front pocket of her lime green robes. She was an older witch, maybe a few years past Mrs. Weasley, but she looked important. Her graying blonde hair was pulled back into a severe chignon at the base of her neck. Harry, Molly, Charlie, Ron, and Hermione all stood up immediately. The Healer looked a little alarmed to see so many people at once, but she recovered quickly in time to say: “Who can make medical decisions for her?”

“That would be me,” Molly said shakily. “But this is her fiancé, Harry. He should be involved as well.”

“Okay,” she said. “I am Healer Serafine Ludy, and I will be in charge of looking after Ginny. Would you come with me?”

Harry shot Ron and Hermione a desperate look before he followed Molly and the Healer out of earshot from the others. The suspense was killing him; he wanted to demand answers, but the words were stuck in his throat. Harry was afraid that if he opened his mouth right now, he might vomit instead.

“She’s alive,” said the Healer.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Molly breathed.

“She’s still being worked on right now, though. You’ll be able to see her soon.”

Molly, at least, was not afraid to ask the questions that Harry couldn’t voice. “How bad is she?”

“Not great,” Healer Ludy admitted. “She took a very nasty fall, and she’s lucky to be alive. She broke her back and her right leg in two places. She also sustained a pretty severe concussion. We can fix the broken bones easily enough, but she did a lot of damage to her spinal cord. In fact, she severed it completely.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that if she were a Muggle, she’d never walk again.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment while Harry took the time to process exactly what she meant. He couldn’t claim to be an expert on medical science, but he knew that the spinal cord was very important. The thought of Ginny being unable to walk for the rest of her life made his head spin. He swayed on the spot, and Molly reached forward to grip his arm in reassurance. 

“But she’s not a Muggle,” he managed to say.

The Healer nodded. “Exactly. We were able to reconnect her spinal cord.”

“Will she make a full recovery?” Molly asked.

“We are not sure yet. Regardless, she’ll be in therapy for a very long time.”

Harry swallowed. It was painful work. “Worst case scenario?”

“Limited mobility, residual pain,” Healer Ludy replied, shrugging. “In a worst case scenario, she might never play again or she might be unable to have children.”

“Right,” said Molly quietly.

The Healer took note of their shocked and terrified faces, and she quickly continued: “But we are optimistic that she will make a full recovery. She’s definitely out for the rest of the season, but she’s young and tough. I’ve seen her play. I think she’ll surprise us. Now, Mrs. Weasley, if you’ll help us fill out some paperwork...”

Harry staggered back over to his chair and collapsed, letting Molly explain the situation to the other three with a clipboard balanced on her hip. The Healer had given them a lot of information, some of which he couldn’t even consider processing at the moment. The important part was that Ginny was alive and would get better. He would worry about the other stuff later. 

Hermione dropped down to kneel in front of Harry. “Are you okay?”

Harry could only nod.

“I’m going to go let the others know before they find out like we did. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay,” he managed.

Hermione left him, the tail end of her cloak snapping about her heels as she hurried off down the opposite end of the hallway. Molly and Charlie were silent, and Harry was left alone with the dark thoughts that always crept in the background of his consciousness. What if Ginny had died? After all that she had survived, she could have been bested by a freak accident at a Quidditch game. He, Harry, would have been all alone. All his past endeavors, all of his hard work over the last few years in the Auror department, would have been reduced to nothing. They meant nothing in comparison to Ginny. He would have been alone.

“Tea?” Ron said, passing him a styrofoam cup.

“That was fast.”

“Yeah, I’m a man of many skills. Drink up before Hermione comes back and fusses at me. Oh, and I asked somebody in the break room. Looks like England still won after all.”

Harry tipped the lukewarm tea down his throat with not much enthusiasm. It did help, but only marginally so. The door on their left opened once again, and he jumped up as though he had been waiting for it. It was the same Healer from before. She beckoned for both Molly and Harry to come inside. He dumped the rest of his tea and the cup into the nearby rubbish bin, and then he followed Molly into the room. 

“Low voices,” warned the Healer. “She’s on a lot of pain potions right now.”

Ginny was lying in a bed in the middle of the room. Several of her limbs were bound tight with bandages. Her face was blotchy, bruised, and swollen in places. She also appeared to be barely conscious because her eyes kept rolling back into her head. Harry looked at her ginger hair, spread out like a fan against the pillow. He could still see the bend from the ponytail she liked to wear on game days. Molly conjured a set of chairs from nowhere, and he took a seat next to Ginny’s head. He longed to reach out and hold her hand, but he didn’t want to hurt her even further.

“Harry,” Ginny said, her voice weak and uncertain. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Did we win?”

Harry exchanged a glance with Molly, who looked torn between amusement and exasperation at the seriousness at which Ginny had asked the question. 

“England won,” Harry told her.

“Good,” she replied, fading back into unconsciousness. “Damn France.”

And then she was asleep, and there was nothing but the steady drip of pain potions and the hum of healing magic to fill the silence.


	2. Chapter 1: Another Weasley Wedding

### CHAPTER ONE: Another Weasley Wedding

The month of June had been uncharacteristically warm, and with very little rain, so the fresh green leaves that had once dotted the trees were now wilting slightly under the heat of the bright sunshine. Parched grass crunched underfoot, and the air wavered slightly at the horizon. Despite the heat, however, the sky overhead was a picture-perfect blue. There was not a single cloud to be seen, and it was not nearly as uncomfortable under the white marquee as it was in direct sunlight. In fact, one other guest two rows back described it as “perfectly bearable”.

...if such a phrase could be used to describe the weather at all.

Still Ginny Weasley was uncomfortable. She plucked at the neckline of her sweaty dress and wished (not for the first time and certainly not without stomach-clenching guilt) that she had just stayed home. Her leg hurt something dreadful. Furthermore, directly to the right of the marquee was the beautiful Bargeworthy Stadium, home of the English National Quidditch Team. It was a magnificent stone castle, complete with turrets and ivy creeping up the walls. Ginny’s old team was in there somewhere, probably cooling down after a long practice session. It’s where she should have been as well, rushing around and laughing at the fact that she was just about to be late for her own brother’s wedding. 

“Here, Ginny,” said a voice.

She craned her head around to find her fiancé, Harry, looking equally uncomfortable in his black formal robes. Beads of sweat were evident at his hairline, and even though he had done a marginally good job with his hair that morning, it was now messier than usual. In fact, it was practically sticking straight up. His glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose, and they were perched there very Percy-like while he held out a tall glass of ice water.

“Oh, you are a lifesaver, Mr. Potter,” she said, and she accepted the drink. “Wish you could have brought me some Firewhiskey as well.”

Harry had taken off his glasses so that he could clean them with the cuff of his robes, but he paused to squint at her in concern. “Ginny…”

“I’m just joking,” she replied bitterly. “No alcohol when I’m on double pain potions. I do listen to my Healer, you know.”

“I never said you didn’t.”

“You act like it, though.”

Harry knew better than to rise to her bait, so he shut his mouth and looked away. She was in low spirits, and Ginny had already made him promise that morning not to pick a fight if she let her temper get the best of her. She was hurting, she couldn’t drink alcohol, and for whatever reason, her brother and his soon-to-be-wife had chosen Bargeworthy Park as their wedding venue. She sipped her water with a scowl on her face.

(Of course, George and Angelina had booked the place nearly eleven months ago, before she had even signed on to play for England, but it was still a rather sore subject.)

“Is my makeup running?” she asked Harry, half-searching for a change in subject and half-fishing for a compliment.

He shook his head. “Looks fine to me. You look great actually. I know I already told you that this morning, but I think you look really pretty today.”

Ginny smiled. The look on Harry’s face that morning when she first emerged from the bathroom had been enough to boost her recently low self-esteem. She had chosen one of her favorite dresses. It was midnight blue, with a white fringe on the bodice and a low neckline. It was also floor-length, to cover the brace she now wore on her right leg. “Thanks, love. You know, Auntie Muriel told me to sit up straight earlier. Nasty old bitch.”

“Mmm,” Harry replied, which was his usual response when he did not want to say anything rude about Ginny’s family. 

The seats continued to fill around them as the guests arrived, and both Ginny and Harry found themselves talking to a number of friends and family. Bill and Fleur sat in the row behind them with their two young daughters. Four-year-old Victoire insisted on showing Ginny her brand-new buckled shoes while baby Niki babbled excitedly from her mother’s arms. Next came Andromeda Tonks and her grandson Teddy Lupin. No one, other than batty old Muriel of course, even dared mention Ginny’s injury...or the fact that they were currently sitting outside of Bargeworthy Stadium. She almost wished they would, though, because Ginny had absolutely nothing of interest to talk about. Her life since leaving St. Mungo’s two weeks ago had been an endless cycle of pain potions, physical therapy, and napping through the afternoon. Evenings were her favorite time of day, because then at least she had Harry to entertain her. Ginny hadn’t been this idle since before her Hogwarts years, and she considered it nothing short of torture. 

No one wanted to hear about the pinpricks she sometimes felt in her fingers and toes, or how she had trouble even holding a spoon at first. They didn’t want to know about the wicked scar on her knee from where the bone had broken straight through the skin, or why she wouldn’t let the Healers vanish it completely. They also didn’t want to know that she was completely barred from all physical activity for another month, at which point the Healers would know once and for all if she would make a full recovery. They were really optimistic, but no one asked Ginny how things were going. She told herself that it was George and Angelina’s special day, but she still felt really put out.

Five minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to start, Hermione dropped into the seat next to Ginny. She wore a pretty summer dress, patterned with flowers in pastel shades of blue and green. Her bushy hair had been somewhat tamed and forced into pins at the base of her neck. Although the effect was quite pleasant, Ginny could see the pins straining; Hermione’s hair always rebelled in the summer heat. It would not last long. “Oh, I can’t wait for you to see Angelina; she looks beautiful!”

“How are Ron and Percy holding up?”

“They’ll live,” she replied, scowling suddenly. “The fact that George could convince them to drink so much at the stag party is, frankly, concerning.”

Ginny nodded. “And let me guess, George looks absolutely fine.”

“Happy as a lark, from the looks of it. Do you really think he’s doing okay?”

“Not with Percy as his best man, I can promise you that.”

“You know what I mean,” said Hermione.

Ginny lowered her voice to an undertone. In a large family, gossiping was a way of life. “Bill just told us that Percy lost George for about an hour this morning. Said he was going for a quick pop outside, and then he just disappeared. Bill reckons he went to the graveyard.”

“That’s where I would’ve looked first!” she scoffed.

“Yeah, well, he probably just needed some space. I bet Percy was sweating like an Erumpent the whole time. He wouldn’t have called for help until the second hour, though.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Hermione said. Then she leaned across Ginny to speak to Harry; “Anyway, how come you didn’t go to the party last night?

“I was on duty,” he replied, shrugging. “Besides, it wouldn’t have been fair to Ginny.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’m engaged to the world’s most noble prat.”

“Or the most boring one,” said Hermione, but then she quickly straightened up as the sound of music swelled from the enchanted golden balloons overhead. “Oh good, I think they’re starting!”

Ginny vanished her empty glass.

The seats upon which they sat groaned collectively as all the guests turned around to watch the procession. Ginny’s injured back did not like the sudden movement, and she could not help but utter a tiny whimper of pain at the twinge in her spine. It went unnoticed by all but Harry, who gave her a brief look of concern. She collected herself, gave him a reassuring smile, and then tried to ease herself into a position that was both relaxed and practical. It was easier said than done.

Her parents were the first down the aisle; Molly and Arthur walked arm-in-arm, beaming and waving at all of the guests. Next came Angelina’s mother, escorted by her older brother. The first of the groomsmen was Lee Jordan, escorting an unknown friend of Angelina’s from work. Then came Ron, looking nervous, escorting Katie Bell. And then finally, as Best Man, Percy walked down the aisle with the Maid of Honor, Alicia Spinnet. 

George walked down the aisle next, alone. He was grinning his usual smirk. Since the injury that had left him permanently with only one ear, he had taken to wearing his hair long to cover the scar. However, two weeks ago, right before Ginny left the hospital, he showed up for Sunday dinner with it cut so short that it rivaled Charlie’s. His injured ear was now on prominent display to everyone. Furthermore, on his upper left arm, he wore a black armband for Fred. 

The last to walk down the aisle, of course, was Angelina, escorted by her balding and mustached father. Hermione had been right; Angelina made a beautiful bride. She wore an elegant, strapless wedding dress, and the contrast of it against her glowing dark skin put Ginny’s pale freckles to shame. Her hair had been expertly braided into dozens of smaller braids and tied up to form a high bun at the back of her head. A single clip, adorned with diamonds and a white flower, held it into place. 

Ginny looked to watch George’s reaction, and she found that in the second it had taken him to turn around and see his future wife in her wedding dress, his smirk of confidence had been replaced with a teary-eyed smile. He laughed in embarrassment and dabbed at his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. Angelina laughed too, and Percy clapped George on the back of his shoulder. They all struggled to regain composure, including Angelina’s father, who seemed to find the whole situation hilarious. He kissed his daughter on the cheek and left her at the front, chuckling to himself. Then, in the split-second silence before the wedding official started speaking, Charlie wolf-whistled from behind Ginny, and the entire wedding party dissolved into laughter once more.

“Tactless,” Muriel muttered, but it came out more like a squeak and a hiccup. She clapped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment as everyone turned around to glare at her.

“Oh yeah,” said George, while Angelina roared with laughter. “I forgot that I spiked a few stray glasses of champagne with Hiccuping Drought. You know, just in case there were any lushes out there with a bad habit of gossiping.”

“That’s exactly the sort of entertainment I would have expected from him on his wedding day,” Ginny whispered to Harry.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o

The music was loud. George and Angelina were dancing so energetically that they cut a space out for themselves on the dance floor, and the only couple who could even come close to matching them was Lee Jordan and his date. It didn’t stop other people from trying, though. Percy and his wife Audrey were attempting some sort of swing dance, both a little braver than usual with the help of the champagne. Even Ron was leading along a giggling and red-faced Hermione. The pins in her hair had finally surrendered, and her face was once again haloed by a familiar cloud of bushy brown hair. Ginny sat on the edge of the dance floor, tapping her left foot and trying not to look as unhappy as she felt. This was payback for her behavior at Ron and Hermione’s wedding last year. She had been so hungover and sore that she had to call out sick from Quidditch practice the following day. Even Harry had drunk more than he had ever done in his lifetime, but there was certainly no denying the fact that it had been the most fun either of them had ever had.

And speaking of Harry...he was on the outside of the marquee, catching fireflies with Teddy, Victoire, and Niki. Ginny could hear the high-pitched squeals of laughter even over the loud music. 

Song after song played, and Ginny was starting to wonder when it would finally be late enough for her to leave without insulting George and Angelina. Muriel had left first thing after the ceremony, much to her brother’s amusement, but almost everyone else was still there. Her parents were sitting off at a corner table, talking with a few other relatives. Charlie and Hagrid were deep in discussion, and there was no one left to entertain her. She considered dragging her bum leg over to sit with her parents, but before she had a chance, Harry returned.

“Care to dance?” he asked. The music had switched to a slow song.

“I can barely stand,” she huffed.

“We can just pretend to dance, then.”

He offered her his hand, and Ginny, knowing that he was being adorably sweet, rolled her eyes and took it. She loved to dance; it was one of her favorite activities behind Quidditch. She struggled to her feet, but once she was there, she could stand unaided. He led her closer to the dance floor, and they swayed slowly in time with the music. Bit by bit, Ginny’s temper melted away. She interlaced her fingers with his and rested her head against his chest so she could feel his heartbeat. His free arm snaked around her waist to hold her steady. He smelled like Harry, like comfort and home. She could close her eyes and pretend, for just one moment, that she hadn’t catastrophically ruined her Quidditch career.

“So, when is it our turn?” Harry asked in a low voice.

“What do you mean?”

“When are we going to get married?”

“Dunno,” she replied. “I haven’t given it much thought. Have you?”

He shrugged. “A little bit. Maybe. We could do it next summer if you wanted.”

“Or winter,” she reminded him. “Like Percy and Audrey.”

“I don’t really like the cold.”

“Neither do I,” Ginny said, still in admiration of Angelina’s strapless wedding dress.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, and the gesture sent shivers down Ginny’s spine that had nothing to do with her injury. She gripped his hand tighter in her own, as if that alone could convey her affection. They spent another moment rotating on the spot, and then the song ended. It was replaced by another quick beat, and Ginny sighed. There was no way she could keep up with a fast tempo. Harry gave her an apologetic smile, and let his arm drop from around her waist. She continued to hold onto his other hand.

“Let’s go home,” she said.

“Really?” he asked. “Are you hurting? You know this will probably go on for another two hours at least.”

“I want to go home,” she repeated. “Just you and me. It’s been awhile since we were able to do _something_.”

Harry did not miss the suggestion. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline, and he glanced around to make sure that no one else was listening. Ginny always found his shyness endearing. “Is...is that why you want to go home?”

“Yes, why is that so hard to believe?”

“You’re still...I mean, how are you feeling?”

Ginny considered the question. She was quickly getting to the point where she would have to get off her feet for good. This was the most she had been able to do for almost a month, but all she wanted now was to be reminded that she was still the old Ginny...the one who could go home and shag her fiancé whenever she wanted. “I feel okay. All I have to do for the bare minimum is just lie there, remember?”

“Ginny!” Harry said, blushing, but then he leaned in closer to whisper: “I’ve got to make it a little bit more enjoyable for you, at least.”

She grinned. “Oh, I’m counting on it, Mr. Potter.”

They made their way around the dance floor, saying goodbye to the people who mattered most. George was disappointed to see them go, but since he drunkenly slopped a generous amount of champagne down the front of Ginny’s dress, she knew they would not be missed for long. Angelina, who was slightly less inebriated, reached out to embrace the both of them. Up close, Ginny could see that her new sister-in-law practically glowed with happiness. The rings on her finger sparkled in the fading sunlight. 

“Thank you so much for coming,” she said. “And Ginny, I really want to apologize again.”

“You don’t have to,” Ginny replied automatically.

“But I want to! I feel so bad.”

Angelina worked in the PR department for the English National Team, which was part of the reason for the wedding’s location. She had been there the day of Ginny’s injury, but she had been so busy working behind the scenes that she didn’t even know about the incident until she’d been forced to draft a statement for the newspaper. Ginny tried to wave her off, even though a tiny part of her was still very unhappy that she had been forced to return to the scene of the accident. 

“When you and George get back from your honeymoon, I want you to take me out to lunch,” she said. “Somewhere fancy.”

Angelina smiled. “Anything you want!”

It was still a couple of minutes before they were able to fully detach themselves from the other wedding guests. Harry and Ginny walked away from the white marquee, right into the long shadows of Bargeworthy Stadium. Ginny tried not to look up at the turrets and towers, tried not notice the dazzling gleam of the golden hoops in the fading sunshine. Her heart ached with sadness, and she couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty for her selfishness. When they were an appropriate enough distance away to Apparate, Harry held out his arm. 

The surrounding countryside vanished as they were forced into nothing.

“Master Harry is home early,” said Kreacher, bowing.

Ginny was unsteady on her feet after such a trip, and she took a seat at the scrubbed kitchen table. It was cool and comfortable in the basement of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, at least compared to the stifling heat outside. The candles in the chandelier had only just flickered into life at their arrival. Kreacher the House Elf hurried forward to collect their shoes as Ginny massaged the ache in her knee. 

“Do you need help getting up the stairs?” Harry asked her.

“I’ve got it.”

She pulled herself back onto her feet and started to climb the first of many staircases. She moved slowly, but her steps were strong and deliberate. Three weeks ago, she could barely walk at all, and now she was climbing the steep and narrow stairs of Grimmauld Place on her own. Harry, however, still hovered anxiously behind her. When they made it to the top floor, Ginny turned around and kissed him soundly on the lips. 

Harry’s eyes widened in shock, but he recovered in time to return the kiss. With their faces pressed together, he loosened his tie from around his neck and dropped it to the floor while Ginny’s fingers raced to undo the buttons on his shirt. He pushed down one of the straps of her dress, and let his mouth brush the smooth skin of her shoulder. Then he half-carried, half-walked her through the bedroom door. Ginny’s hands were now on his neck, her fingers in his untidy black hair. Harry’s own hands ran down the length of her sides, over the curve of her waist and profile of her hips, and then he gently eased her down onto the bed.

Ginny hissed with pain. Harry instantly drew back, alarmed, but she only shook her head, breathing as the twinge in her spine subsided. The perfect moment had been tarnished.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“You sure?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, she replied. “But I should probably take another round of my pain potions anyway.”

“Okay,” he said, pushing himself up to give her space.

Ginny struggled up off the bed. It was a good thing that she found Harry so attractive right now, because her simple desire had suddenly become an awful lot of work. That was the primary reason why they hadn’t had sex since she had come home from the hospital; it was always too much work or she was hurting too bad. Ginny went to the connecting bathroom, smiling a little at her reflection in the mirror because her lipstick was smudged. Then she pulled two small vials of a purple potion from the shelf on her side of the sink.

“You should probably take your other potion too,” Harry said.

Ginny froze. She knew that he was referring to a contraception potion. Her eyes darted once again to the shelf, and she quickly found a stash of vials containing a potion that was opaque and faintly pink. She hadn’t even considered the fact that they would need the potion since she was off her regular birth control. It was still another month before the healers would know if there was lasting damage that would prevent her from successfully carrying children, and so far, she and Harry had avoided all conversation about the subject. She poked her head around the doorframe. 

“You think so?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Harry nodded, looking sheepish. “Yes. We said we weren’t going to worry about that until we had a definitive answer.”

That hadn’t stopped either of them from worrying about it, and they both knew that, but she still gave him a small smile. Ginny pulled down one of the little vials containing the contraception potion, and she downed all three at once, shuddering. It was like taking shots of alcohol without anything sweet to chase the taste away.

“No worries,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. She stepped back into the bedroom.

“No worries,” Harry repeated.

He doused the lights with a wave of his wand.

Nothing, of course, is as clear or as certain as it appears in hindsight. Otherwise, the two of them might have been a little more worried...or they might have checked the back of the contraception potion, where it clearly advertises the dangers of taking more than one kind of potion at time.


	3. Intuition

### CHAPTER TWO: Intuition

Ginny stepped out of the fireplace, brushing the soot and ash from the front of her robes. Her injured leg trembled slightly beneath her after her trip through the Floo Network, and she had to take a few slow steps to get her balance back. The open bar of the Three Broomsticks was about as crowded as one would expect at ten o’clock on a weekday morning in mid-July. The only other patron was a custodial night shift worker from the Ministry, and he sat oblivious to the world as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes over the morning newspaper. Behind the bar stood Hannah Abbott, waving her wand as she stocked the shelves with tankards and glasses in preparation for the lunchtime rush.

“Ginny!” she exclaimed happily, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear. “How are you?”

“Good morning, Hannah! I’m doing well,” Ginny lied automatically, putting on a smile. It was easier than launching into rant about her current ailments. “Did Neville forget about our brunch date?”

Hannah laughed. “No, he’ll be down in a second. I’m going to put the three of you over at the back table where nobody can bother you. I can’t wait to see Luna! Gosh, how many years has it been?”

“I saw her last Christmas,” Ginny replied, doing the math. “But the last time she was in town for any length of time was your wedding.”

“Yeah, three years ago!”

“Was it really three years ago?” said a voice in mock surprise.

They looked up to find Neville hurrying down the stairs. He was already dressed in his work clothes in preparation for his shift at the London Magical Conservatory later on that afternoon. Normally, Ginny would not have said that dirty trousers, a loose smock, and suspenders looked good on anyone, but Neville wore them like a badge of honor. He gave Ginny a quick embrace as soon as he reached the bottom step, and she reached up to return the gesture. Neville smelled like the earth: rich, dark, and alive. 

“ _Almost_ three years,” Hannah corrected.

Neville kissed his wife on the cheek. “Only felt like three days.”

“Gross!” said Ginny. “Get a room, you two.”

Hannah giggled, and her face turned pink with delight. She led the two of them over to a table near the back where they would not be disturbed. Ginny sat down heavily in her chair, stretching her leg out when it twinged uncomfortably beneath her. Two glasses of ice water zoomed out from behind the bar, along with a basket of freshly baked bread. Neville reached for a slice automatically, and Hannah promised to be back for their food orders as soon as Luna arrived.

“So,” Ginny started eagerly. “How’s work?”

Neville could not hide the wide smile that suddenly split his face. “I absolutely love it, Ginny. You have no idea how happy I am.”

“I think your face says all I need to know,” Ginny replied. “You never looked this happy when you were an Auror.”

“That’s because I was miserable all the time.”

Ginny sat back in her chair and studied her friend. She knew what he said was true. About a month before her accident, Neville had announced to all of them that he was leaving the Ministry for good. He had joined the Auror department the summer after Voldemort’s downfall, in what he said was an obligation to finish his parents’ work. However, now that most (note: not all) of the Death Eaters were safely behind bars, the job had become rather disheartening for him. It was hard to be an Auror; Ginny understood that fact all too well. “I wish Ron would wake up and realize the same thing. I know he doesn’t enjoy the job either.”

“What about Harry?” Neville asked.

Ginny shot him a look. “You and I both know that Harry would be a lot more miserable if he wasn’t out there fighting the Dark Arts.”

“And that,” said Neville, raising his glass of water for a toast; “is why Harry is a better person than I will ever be.”

“He’s insufferable, but I love him,” Ginny replied. 

At that precise moment, the fireplace roared to life. A young woman slid out onto the hardwood and popped upright, shaking the soot from her long, dishwater blonde hair. She was wearing blue, paisley-patterned robes with a brown messenger bag slung over her shoulder. A necklace of butterbeer corks hung from around her neck and the chipped varnish on her nails was a familiar shade of purple. As quick as she could manage, Ginny screamed in excitement and ran to hug her best friend. 

“Luna!” she exclaimed.

Then, something peculiar happened. Ginny was so delighted to be reunited with her best friend that she actually started crying. She took a step back, dabbing furiously at her eyes so that her makeup would not be ruined, and tried to figure out why she was suddenly so emotional. It was strangest thing; Ginny was not the sort of girl who ever cried in public. Luna put her hands on either side of her face and gave her a kiss on each cheek, laughing.

“Oh, Ginny! I’m happy to see you too! If I had known you missed me so much, I would’ve come back sooner!” she said.

“I’m so sorry,” Ginny sniffed, deciding that she might as well laugh through her embarrassment. She had no explanation as to why the tears appeared so suddenly. “It’s been a really tough summer.”

Luna’s expression was sympathetic. “I know. I was so worried when I got Harry’s letter. I should’ve come back straight away.”

“Ginny, quit hogging Luna!” Neville interrupted, playfully pushing her aside to give Luna an enthusiastic hug. “I can’t promise I won’t get weepy too! Hannah! Hannah, come see Luna!”

Hannah poked her head out from within the kitchens and gave a delighted squeal. She ran past the sleepy Ministry worker to wrap Luna in a bone-crushing hug. It was a good thing they were the only people in the bar, because they were making quite the fuss. Luna’s travels had prevented them from getting together frequently, so it was quite the rare occasion. Hannah started crying as well, but then again, she was the type of girl who regularly cried happy tears.

“Merlin, I am so happy to see you!” said the blonde, brushing away her tears with the corner of her apron. “Let me get started on your food! Big English breakfasts for all three of you!”

Ginny wanted to tell Hannah that she was not hungry enough to eat a full breakfast, but the other girl was gone before she had a chance. The kitchen door swung shut behind her, and they could hear her using magic to get the cooker started. In between spells, she was singing happily to herself. For a quiet moment, Luna, Neville, and Ginny all stared at one another. There was so much to say that it was hard to come up with something to talk about first. 

Neville broke the stalemate first. He pulled out the girls’ chairs and gestured for them to take a seat. “Luna, you have to tell us everything about Thailand!”

“Oh, it’s amazing,” Luna replied in her usual dreamy voice. However, this time there was an air of true bliss. It was not unlike the tone Neville had used when describing his own job. “I have learned so much working with Rolf. He really knows his stuff! And my host family is absolutely delightful! They took me to see a real Naga last week!”

“I have no idea what a Naga is, but it sounds really cool,” said Neville, grabbing another slice of bread from the basket.

“It’s a five-headed snake.”

Ginny laughed. “That’s four heads too many, in my opinion. What’s it like working with Newt Scamander’s grandson?”

“He’s amazing,” said Luna, an unfamiliar smile on her face. “I’ve never met anyone as smart as him. He cares so much for magical creatures, and he really embodies his grandfather’s values of conservation. I admire him so much! It’s been a dream working with him.”

Another glass of ice water zoomed out from the kitchen to Luna’s outstretched hand, and she busied herself by adding a lemon slice and three packets of sugar. Ginny exchanged a surprised look with Neville. Luna had never talked so openly about anyone like that before, much less a guy. Ginny was just about to remark on it, when the Ravenclaw, blinking her large blue eyes, turned to face her: “Tell me, Ginny, how have you been?”

“Oh,” she said, shrugging. This was a much less exciting topic; Ginny had to stop the rant that was sitting so readily at the tip of her tongue these days. She was miserable, and she did not want to take everyone down with her. “Not great,” she finally relented.

“Really?” Luna replied, disappointed. “What’s wrong?”

“I just don’t feel good. I don’t know if healing such a bad injury normally takes this long, but I think I’m actually getting worse.”

“Worse?” Neville asked. There was concern in his voice. “I thought you were getting better. That’s what you told me two weeks ago. When’s your next Healer’s appointment?”

“Day before Harry’s birthday. It’s supposed to be the one where they tell me whether I’m free to play Quidditch again, but I’m not very optimistic.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m still so tired all the time. All I do is sleep. I have absolutely no stamina, and it’s impacting my mood. I feel like I keep going back and forth between being angry and depressed. I’m driving Harry and my family absolutely crazy.” She took a deep steadying breath, and then paused to offer a placating smile. “But I don’t want to think about that right now. I want to enjoy this lunch and not worry about myself for a change.”

Neville frowned. “Ginny, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know that things were getting worse. Is there anything we can do to help out?”

“You can make me smile, and that’s enough for now. Harry practically booted me out of the house this morning. Speaking of which, Luna, you have to come to his birthday party. He’ll be so upset if you don’t.”

Luna gave another dreamy smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Where is it?”

“The Burrow. Where else?”

“Are you still living at Grimmauld Place?” Luna asked.

“Yes,” Ginny replied, wrinkling her nose. The big, miserable house in London was a frequent discussion topic for the young couple. “We’ve been talking about buying a new house for a while now, but that’s a really scary step. We’re still not sure if we want to do that before or after the wedding.”

“Have you set a date for the wedding yet?” asked Neville.

“That’s complicated subject. New topic.”

“Seems like there are a lot of topics we need to avoid!” Luna said, laughing.

Neville’s eyes grew wide and he looked embarrassed for Ginny’s sake. She knew not to take it personally. Luna often spoke bluntly, and they had been friends long enough for her to know that she never meant any harm. Therefore, the red-haired girl just shrugged and took a sip from her glass of water. She had started sweating for some odd reason. Was it just her imagination, or had the room suddenly become hot and stuffy? She tugged at the collar of her robes.

“Anyway, Luna, I was going to ask you if you still had the notebook from our sixth year.”

Luna sat upright, eyes bright. “Yes, of course. It’s in our vault. Why? Are you finally going to write the book?”

“I don’t know,” Ginny replied, picking at the corner of a napkin. “I’ve been so bored lately that I thought I might start looking through it.”

“Have you mentioned this to Harry?” Neville asked.

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?” Luna asked.

Ginny eyed them all very seriously. She didn’t want to say too much for fear of revealing something about Harry that was too personal for her friends to hear, but she trusted Luna and Neville with her life. Besides, it was their story to tell as well, and they had already decided long ago that she would be the one to write it. “It’s...hard to talk about that year with him. He often tries to pretend that nothing happened at all. You know what they say; two steps forward, one step back.”

“At least you’re still going in the right direction,” said Luna.

“Yeah, just not very quickly.”

Neville’s voice was quiet. “What are you going to do?” 

Ginny shrugged. “Well, I thought I’d just leave it out one day for him to find...Oi! Don’t give me that look, Longbottom. It’s a perfectly good idea.”

“And you’re willing to risk his mental health like that?”

Before she had a chance to respond, Hannah set down three enormous plates of food. She had piled high an assortment of scrambled eggs, sausages, buttered toast, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms...and it was all paired with such a delicious aroma that the Ministry worker stirred from where he had been snoring over his newspaper. Neville eagerly picked up his fork and knife in preparation, but Ginny pushed her chair back. A wave of nausea had risen in her throat, churning her stomach and setting her mouth to water sickly. Black spots flickered at the corner of her eyes. She felt light-headed.

“Nothing but the best!” Hannah announced proudly.

“I need to step outside for some air,” Ginny mumbled back. The other three blinked at her in surprise.

Ginny quickly stood up and stumbled outside to the back alley that concealed the entrance to Diagon Alley. She hoped she wasn’t making a terrible mistake not to run to the bathroom, but it had been on the other side of the pub and she hadn’t wanted to alarm her friends. Therefore, she sat down on the back step and took deep breaths, willing herself not to throw up. It was extremely hot outside, and she could already feel the cold sweat running down her back. Thankfully, however, there was a breeze to lift the hair off the back of her neck. 

_What the hell was wrong with her?_

The door opened behind her, and Ginny looked up to find Luna. The other girl dropped down on the step next to her and, without a word, conjured a washcloth with a flick of her wand. Then she doused it with water and passed it over to Ginny. The other girl gave her a weak smile as she pressed the cloth to the back of her neck.

“You look positively green,” said Luna.

“That’s exactly how I feel. Did Neville or Hannah say anything?”

Luna shook her head. “No, I think Neville is under the impression that you are worried about what Harry might do if he finds the notebook.”

“Well, I am, but that’s not the current problem.”

“Are you sick?” Luna asked.

Ginny shrugged. The black spots at the corner of her eyes had receded, but her stomach was still threatening a rebellion. “I have no idea what’s wrong with me, Luna. I’m tired, moody, and now bloody sick to my stomach. All I want to do is play Quidditch, but I feel like I’m going to be forced into retirement at age twenty-one!”

Luna did not immediately respond. She grabbed one of Ginny’s hands and held it between her own for a long, quiet moment. Slowly, Ginny felt herself relax. She dropped her head on Luna’s shoulder and sighed.

“You know,” said Luna, with a thoughtful look on her face. “You sort of remind me of Malai.”

“Who’s Malai?”

“She’s my host sister in Thailand. She’s our age, and she was just like you a couple months ago. She was tired, moody, and sick all the time.”

“Yeah?” Ginny said. “Did she ever figure out what was wrong with her?”

Luna nodded. “Oh, there was nothing wrong with her. She was just pregnant. They had a little baby girl. You should meet her, she’s darling.”

Ginny quickly jerked her head off Luna’s shoulder and stared at her. Of all insane things that had ever come out of Luna’s mouth, this was surely the most absurd. Ginny couldn’t help it; she started laughing. Luckily for her, that bit of humor acted just as quickly as a potion. She no longer felt sick. 

“I’m not pregnant, Luna!” she chuckled. Then she flinched. The words had sounded louder than she had intended, and she quickly glanced around to make sure that no one was within earshot. “Also, we should keep our voices down. The Daily Prophet would have a field day if they even so much heard a whisper.”

“Why?” Luna asked innocently.

“Because it’d be Harry Potter’s kid.”

“Oh, I suppose that would be very interesting. Forget I said anything.”

Ginny handed back the washcloth, breathing in deep lung-fulls of the muggy London air. As quick as it had come, the bout of nausea had passed, and she was left with only a slight, uncomfortable wobble in her stomach. “I’ve already forgotten it. Honestly, Luna! That was quite preposterous, even for you!”

Luna shrugged. She vanished the washcloth and stood, adjusting her necklace of butterbeer corks. She then offered a hand to Ginny, who used it to pull herself back onto her feet.

“Wait a minute!” said Ginny, excitedly. “I haven’t shown you my scar yet!”

She lifted the hem of her robes to reveal a jagged white line that sat three inches long on the outside of her knee. It looked both twisted and angry. Although the Healers had offered to vanish it completely, Ginny had refused to let them remove the testament to her suffering. Luna admired the scar appropriately.

“You know, in some cultures, scars are a way to signify a brave warrior,” she said. 

“Damn straight,” Ginny replied. “It’s only fitting that I should match Harry. Come on, though. We should get back before Neville sends an army to find us.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Luna mused.


	4. Fate's Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Somebody asked me to clarify the timeline. We’ll pretend that they asked nicely. At this point in the story, it is late July 2003. Ginny is currently 21-years-old. Teddy was born April 1998, Victoire was born May 1999, and Dominique was born in January 2003. Yes, I am aware that Victoire is supposed to be two years younger than Teddy, according to canon. And yes, I intentionally changed it. All of my stories take place in the same “universe”, and I have quite a few ideas that I would love to write someday. At least two of them include Victoire, so it is important that she was born in 1999. 
> 
> It seems very likely that Jo will keep adding to her canon, so I see no point in adhering to every single piece of information that gets released from this point onward. She is Queen, and what she writes is canon and will always be canon. I will happily read/watch whatever she creates. I, however, do not get paid so what I write will always be fanfiction. Therefore - my story, my rules.

### CHAPTER THREE: Fate’s Gift 

Ginny had trouble sleeping that night. She lay awake for several hours, watching a strip of light flicker on the ceiling of Harry’s bedroom. The source was an old street lamp down on Grimmauld Place; one that was slowly dying and had not yet been replaced by the city. Ginny was not sure how a light bulb could be capable of death, but that had been Harry’s explanation when it had first started flickering...nearly two years ago. It had become a permanent feature. Every now and then a car would drive past, and the light would blink out of existence for a split second before returning in all its intermittent, shuddering glory. 

The broken light had never bothered Ginny. It bothered Harry sometimes, but not her. Growing up, her house had always been a hub of flashing lights and popping colors. What she hated most about Grimmauld Place was the lack of sound. The Blacks had made sure that none of the noise from London’s streets would drift through the walls of their house, and the result was an unearthly quiet. It was so quiet sometimes that all she could hear was the pulse of her own blood through her veins. Even the smallest noise downstairs felt deafening in the silence...rats scurrying in the attic, Kreacher murmuring to himself as he wandered the house. She welcomed the sound of Harry’s quiet breathing. 

He was currently asleep on the bed next to her, stretched out on his stomach. The flickering light cast a warm glow on his narrow face. Ginny liked to watch him sleep sometimes, for no other reason than to reassure herself that he was real...that he hadn’t been a figment of her imagination for the past five years. He frowned when he slept. He often complained that he thought about work even in his dreams. His eyebrows were furrowed, and the corners of his mouth were turned down. It was not an unpleasant look, though; she always found him handsome. She wondered what a child of theirs would look like.

And then, the knot of anxiety in her stomach gave another painful spasm. 

Although Ginny had laughed at Luna’s wild suggestion earlier that day (for all of Luna’s suggestions were wild), her friend’s words had come back to haunt her in the dark of the night. She was not pregnant. She _couldn’t_ be pregnant. They hadn’t even determined yet if Ginny would be able to get pregnant on account of her injuries. And yet, there was something about the idea that annoyingly made sense. She was tired, moody, and sick all the time now. She also hadn’t had her period in over two months. 

It should be noted that this, in and of itself, was not a rare occurrence. Ginny’s periods were often irregular because of Quidditch, and she had once gone seven months without one. However, she hadn’t been training since April, and intuition would suggest that it should have happened by now. Ginny had no one she could casually ask. Her experience with pregnant women so far had been unfortunately limited. As the youngest child, she had never known her mother to be pregnant, and female relatives were few and far between. Fleur, of course, had given her two gorgeous nieces, but her pregnancies had both been like something out of a beauty magazine. 

At least Ginny had one meaningful conversation with Tonks over Christmas 1997. Even as Harry snored quietly beside her, Ginny tried to think back on that day. She had already decided by then that she would never have children in a world with Tom Riddle, so the words had not felt very meaningful at the time. Still, Tonks’s shining face swam to the forefront of her memory, and she could remember laughing as they stole two dozen biscuits from her mother’s cooling rack in the kitchen. Tonks had described in detail her elation and morning sickness, baby kicks and heartburn, glowing skin and frequent urination. It was the sort of conversation that both horrified and amazed Ginny. By April, Tonks had given birth to Teddy free of complications, but the Auror was no longer around anymore to offer words of comfort. 

And Ginny was extremely uncomfortable. She was hot and sweat clung to her skin as she kicked back the covers. What if she _was_ pregnant? That meant there would be a baby in just a couple of months. She had no idea how to take care of a baby. That was a job for people who had more experience at being an adult and taking care of themselves. Ginny definitely wanted children. She had always wanted children, secretly, even when she thought the war would not allow her that luxury. Tom Riddle’s defeat had given her back a life full of possibilities, so of course Ginny wanted children. She and Harry had talked about it frequently, often in the dead of night where no one else would hear their whispered plans for the future. However, this was not what she had envisioned. The idea of children had always been a long off dream for when she was done with her other dream of playing Quidditch. 

Merlin Almighty, she couldn’t play Quidditch if she was pregnant! What if they forced her to retire? She was not even twenty-two! 

The knot in her stomach tightened once again. Right on cue, though, Harry gave a deep sigh in his sleep and turned over. He snuggled a little closer to her, one hand curled against her cheek. His presence was like a sedative; Ginny felt her anxiety slowly ebb away. She was being ridiculous. This was not the time to worry. It was very unlikely that she was pregnant. After all, she had been using the contraception potion diligently since George’s wedding, and it was considered to be very effective. Everyone probably went through a similar thought spiral of panic. Pregnancy scares were a common and natural part of being in a long-term relationship, or so she was told, and they didn’t always result in a baby. It was better to worry about it in the morning. 

Try as she might, though, Ginny still had trouble falling asleep.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny. Ginny pushed herself up to a seated position, feeling quite stiff and dissatisfied with the quality of her sleep. Then she rubbed her eyes and yawned. There was an empty space beside her on the bed where Harry usually slept. It was a Tuesday, so he was at work. The clock on the bedside table indicated that he had been there for some time. This was fortunate for her. Before falling asleep last night, she had come up with a plan to determine once and for all that she was not pregnant. She would go to one of the nearby Muggle drug stores and buy a pregnancy test.

Witches, she knew, had their own way of detecting a pregnancy. However, it involved a special kind of potion made with assistance from a live frog, and Ginny was not about to travel to Diagon Alley and risk being spotted by a photographer. She would just have to make due with a Muggle pregnancy test. 

She dressed for the warm July weather, throwing on a pair of jean shorts and a plain gray t-shirt. Her long red hair went straight into a ponytail so she wouldn’t have to worry about it with no proper wash. The last thing she did before lacing her faded trainers was to strap on her bulky knee brace. It was only a couple blocks to the chemist, but she didn’t want to worry about her knee giving out halfway down Grimmauld Place. 

Ginny glanced at herself in the mirror. Unfortunately, she still looked like a teenager...a teenager who was about to go buy a pregnancy test. Excellent.

“Where is Miss Weasley going?” Kreacher croaked in his bullfrog voice. He had appeared at the top of the kitchen stairs the moment she had stepped down on the landing. In his old age, he was nearly blind, and his eyes were milky with cataracts. Still, nothing happened in the house without his knowledge. 

“Just out for coffee,” Ginny lied easily.

“Master Harry has some Muggle money in the study. Would you like Kreacher to fetch it for you?”

“No, Kreacher, I already grabbed some. Thank you, though.”

He bowed low to the ground, and then struggled to straighten back to a standing position. She could hear his bones creak, and Ginny felt a pang of pity in her heart; he was getting really old and would probably not be with them for much longer. Then he proceeded to mutter something under his breath about the repulsive smell of Muggle London, and she felt a great deal less sympathetic.

True to her word, Ginny did actually stop at a café for an iced coffee drink. It was good, but it turned out to be more sugar than actual coffee, and she had to dump it in a trashcan two blocks later. She also perused a bunch of blank notebooks at the local bookstore. She was still toying with the idea of making an autobiography out of Luna’s notes from the war. In the end, though, she didn’t buy anything. She was still not very confident using Muggle money, and she didn’t have the faintest idea how much a pregnancy test was supposed to cost...or if she would have any money left over from the purchase. She was only procrastinating; by the time she made it to the street with the chemist, her stomach was a twisted knot again.

Only it was not due to her nerves. Before she even had a chance to comprehend the situation, Ginny’s stomach heaved in sudden rebellion. She barely had enough time to duck into the nearby alley before she was sick all over the ground. 

“You alright, love?” asked an older woman walking past. She had a strong cockney accent.

“No,” Ginny replied, fighting the tears that were prickling at the corner of her eyes. “I think I’m pregnant.”

“Oh,” replied the woman, chuckling. “Been there before. Ginger and water will help. Would you like me to call someone for ya?”

“Thank you, but no, I’m fine.”

The woman lingered for a few moments longer, as if she were unsure whether or not it was safe to leave Ginny on her own. Then she bade her good luck and hurried on her way. Ginny wiped a shaking hand on the back of her mouth. She hadn’t been sick like that since her signing party with the Holyhead Harpies, before she had any real idea of how much alcohol a person could tolerate. Her certainty that she was not pregnant had all but vanished. There was no way this was merely a coincidence. She took several deep breaths before staggering back to the street.

An electronic bell sounded from somewhere deep within the store when she stepped across the threshold of the chemist. The man behind the counter looked up and smiled, and Ginny gave a grimace in return. He looked young and stylish. She sincerely hoped that he hadn't just seen her be sick outside. Luckily, however, he only seemed interested in her knee brace.

“Wicked injury. What did you do?”

“Broke my knee playing football,” Ginny replied shortly.

She grabbed a water bottle from a section of refrigerated shelves and walked around the small store until she finally found the pregnancy tests (ironically next to the condoms). To her absolute horror, though, she found that there were several different kinds of pregnancy tests. Some claimed to have early detection, while others boasted about electronic screens...whatever that was. There even appeared to be a cheap version that was nothing more than paper strips. How was she supposed to choose one? 

“Fuck it,” Ginny muttered, and she grabbed one at random. 

“Ready to check out?” asked the man behind the counter cheerfully. He did not wait for her reply. “So what position do you play?”

Ginny placed the pregnancy test and her bottle of water on the counter. “Center.”

His face went red with second-hand embarrassment as he glanced down, and then his eyes automatically darted over her. Luckily, Harry’s ring was quite visible on the third finger of her left hand...so even if she looked young, it was still evident that she was in a committed relationship. Ginny tried not to let his reaction affect her, but it was hard to stop the heat from rising all the way to the tips of her ears. First, she had been sick in an alley, and now she was forced to endure the scrutiny of stranger. It was certainly not the morning she had envisioned for herself yesterday, but there was hardly anything she could do. 

The man placed her items in a brown paper bag. 

“Hope your leg heals soon,” he said in a fake voice, eyes averted.

“Thank you,” she responded.

The sunshine hurt her eyes after the cramped darkness of the chemist shop, and Ginny had to blink a few times to see clearly. She kept her head down after that. Her walk back to Grimmauld Place was much quicker than the trek over had been, but Ginny was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she barely even registered the fact that she was walking without pain. She was worried that everyone was looking at her, as if they could somehow tell what was in her brown paper bag. In fact, she half-expected a photographer for the Daily Prophet to jump out from behind a rubbish bin to snap what was sure to be a tantalizing photo for the Gossip Column. Vultures. Ginny didn’t even properly breathe until she was safely inside Harry’s house. The gloomy, narrow staircase was a welcome relief in her semi-panic.

She didn’t wait for Kreacher to greet her at the top of the kitchen stairs, but instead hurried up to the bedroom she shared with Harry. He would not be back from work for several hours; Ginny wasn’t sure if she could tell him about this just yet, regardless of the outcome. She sat down on the bed and pulled out the pregnancy test. She didn’t have the faintest idea how to use one, but luckily, the back of the box held very detailed instructions.

_I have to...wait, what?_

There was a knock on the door. Ginny nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Miss Weasley,” came Kreacher’s voice.

Ginny frantically glanced around the room. Finding no obvious place to hide the pregnancy test, she opened Harry’s sock drawer and shoved it inside. Then she turned to open the door for Kreacher.

“Hello, Kreacher.”

“Pardon me, Miss Weasley,” he said. “Kreacher wanted to let you know that Miss Lovegood stopped by while you were out. She entrusted Kreacher to give you this package.”

He held up a small package wrapped in brown wax paper. Ginny took it in her hands gingerly, and the paper fell away to reveal a notebook with a faded blue cover. Almost every inch of the first half was filled with Luna’s tiny handwriting, and there were even quite a few loose papers folded and tucked between individual pages. It was the notebook that Luna had meticulously kept during their sixth year at Hogwarts, right up to the point of her kidnapping over the Christmas holidays. The middle section of the notebook was written in Ginny’s handwriting, and the last few pages held Neville’s untidy scribble.

Ginny sat back down on the bed. The notebook felt heavy in her hands, and there was a wobble in her stomach that had nothing to do with her lingering nausea. 

“Kreacher,” she said quietly. “Can I ask you a favor?”

Kreacher tilted his head, but he neither confirmed nor denied that he would help her.

“Please don’t tell Harry about this until I’ve said something to him first.”

“Kreacher wonders what Miss Weasley is hiding. Kreacher doesn’t have to keep secrets from his Master. No, no...Kreacher only obeys Miss Weasley on Master Harry’s request. Kreacher…”

“Kreacher,” Ginny said sharply, in an effort to interrupt his muttering. “I ask that you don’t mention this until I’ve properly explained it. It will make Master Harry very sad, because it’s about the war, and I don’t want to make him sad right now. His birthday is on Thursday.”

“His birthday is on Thursday,” Kreacher repeated, bowing low to the ground.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “And?”

“Kreacher will keep Miss Weasley’s secrets...for now.”

“Thank you,” said Ginny.

She watched Kreacher back out of the bedroom and shuffle down the hallway. It was only when Ginny finally closed the door again did she catch the implication behind his words. The old House-Elf had said ‘secrets’...as in, more than one secret. She wondered if he knew about the pregnancy test currently hidden in Harry’s sock drawer. Unnerved and a little anxious, she wrapped Luna’s notebook in a hideous pink sweater that had once been a Christmas gift from Fleur and placed the bundle at the back of the closet by her recreational Quidditch gear. Harry knew better than to touch that. Quidditch gear was the one thing they refused to share.

_Okay,_ Ginny thought, steeling herself. _I’m a Gryffindor. I can do this._

She opened the sock drawer and pulled out the pregnancy test. Then she went to the bathroom and followed the directions on the back of the box. Ginny wasn’t sure how peeing on a stick was supposed to work, but the box said something about hormones, and that sounded scientific enough for her to believe it. When she was finished, she placed the test on the rim of the claw-footed tub and flushed the toilet. 

While she waited, Ginny reread the instructions; two pink lines on the test meant she was pregnant, while only one pink line meant that she was not pregnant. She put the box back on the counter and closed her eyes. This was the moment of truth. Tomorrow, she was either going to yell at her doctors for prescribing her a rubbish contraception potion, or she was going to yell at them about her declining health. 

She took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. Then, Ginny Weasley opened her eyes.

Two pink lines.

_Fuck._


	5. Telling Harry

### CHAPTER FOUR: Telling Harry

It was early the next morning when Harry woke her up carrying a breakfast tray and a small bouquet of purple flowers. He wore a cheerful (albeit forced and somewhat apprehensive) smile on his face as he placed it down across her lap, and Ginny had the distinct impression that he was trying awfully hard to please her. She propped herself up on her elbows and blinked away the sleep from her eyes. He was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt...definitely not the work clothes she would have expected for a Wednesday morning. However, she found his general demeanor of optimism to be the most surprising. He was even humming to himself! Then he waved his wand at the bedroom curtains, and they sprang apart to let the light of the sunny July morning spill across Ginny’s face. She flinched back in annoyance, throwing up an arm to shield her eyes. 

“Good morning!” Harry said.

“If you say so,” she replied. “Why aren’t you at work?”

He sat down next to her, and the tray bounced ever-so-slightly with his movement. Ginny could see that he had cooked enough for the both of them. There was oatmeal, toast, and fresh orange juice. “I took the day off work.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to take you to your appointment with the Healer. I wanted to surprise you.”

It certainly was a surprise. With everything that had transpired over the last two days, Ginny had almost completely forgotten about her follow-up appointment at St. Mungo’s. This was supposed to be the appointment where she would learn once and for all if she was allowed to play Quidditch again. She dropped her eyes from Harry’s eager face and tried not to let her disappointment show. He was being so sweet to her, and she felt a little kindling of affection catch fire in her chest and thaw the ice that had settled there. It was moments like this that reminded her just how much she loved him.

“Thank you,” she said.

He picked at a loose string in the fabric of the bed comforter. “I thought — regardless of the outcome — that I would take you out to lunch after.”

“Yeah…” Ginny replied, hesitating.

Something in her voice must’ve cued Harry to look up. She watched his bright green eyes scrutinize her for a moment, and then he frowned. “Are you all right, Ginny? You look...like you haven’t been sleeping much. No offense, of course.”

Ginny sighed deeply. She had, in fact, been up almost the entire night worrying about what she was going to say to him. There had been a hundred different scenarios running through her head, and most of them were only the painful indulgences of a panic-stricken mind. She was not going to be able to lie to him about this, and not saying anything at all was even worse. With her heart hammering in her chest, Ginny carefully picked up the breakfast tray and set it off to the side. She pushed herself into a proper seated position and reached for one of Harry’s hands.

“Harry,” she started. “Something happened yesterday.”

He straightened, almost in alarm. 

“Well, technically, it was two days ago when I went to go see Luna and Neville at the Leaky Cauldron, but it doesn’t really matter. We were talking, and I was complaining about the fact that I haven't been feeling well...and then Luna made an off-hand comment that I might be pregnant.”

Whatever Harry had been expecting, she was certain that it had not been that. He blinked in surprise. Ginny almost laughed at his comical expression, but she figured that would have been in poor taste. 

“And...well...it kind of made sense.”

“That’s impossible,” said Harry, smiling weakly.

Ginny couldn’t help herself; she had to laugh at that. “You of all people should know that you can’t predict how magic will work. You literally came back from the dead.”

“Not sure how that’s relevant…”

“And anyway, I took a Muggle pregnancy test and it came back positive.”

“WHAT?” said Harry, standing up.

His fingers immediately went up to knot themselves in his untidy black hair. Ginny sighed again, more out of exhaustion than anything else. She went to the bathroom where she had hidden the pregnancy test in the cabinet behind as many bottles of lotion, makeup, and shampoo as she could cram in one corner. She then handed it to him right side up so that he could clearly make out the reading. He was silent for what felt like an eternity. Ginny desperately searched his face for some sort of sign. There was nothing...well, nothing but surprise. However, she could distinguish anything beyond that. Even for as long as she had known him, he was still an enigma at times. 

Then he sat back down.

“How?” he asked.

“Well, Mr. Potter, when a man sticks his…”

“That’s not what I meant, Ginny.”

_Shit. Was he annoyed?_

Ginny sat back down on the bed next to him. She fought to keep her gallows humor back where it belonged. “I don’t know what happened either, Harry. I guess the potion was bad?”

“Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

“I needed time to process it, and I wasn’t sure how to break the news.”

Instead of responding, Harry chewed steadily on the inside of his mouth. It was a nervous habit that he had developed in the months after the war. She wanted him to say something, anything, but he just stared at the positive pregnancy test in his hand. Ginny’s heart was beating a violent tattoo against her ribcage. She knew that this moment would define the rest of their life, and she was terribly desperate to get through it already. 

“Harry?” she asked, resting one hand on his thigh. “What’s going through your head right now?”

“There are a lot of things going through my head right now.”

“Then tell me what was the first thing.”

His green eyes met her brown ones, and then, very slowly, as though being dragged from the bottom of a deep well, a smile appeared on Harry’s face. Ginny’s heart skipped a beat; it was the most wonderful smile she had ever seen in her life. She hadn’t known what she was looking for, but that was it. She threw her arms around his neck, and he caught her. The dam that had been holding back her emotions this entire time finally broke. Of course, she had been moody, but that was nothing compared to the flood of raw positive energy that was now coursing through her blood stream. Underneath all the fear and apprehension — and yes, anger — there was something she hadn’t quite examined yet.

She was _happy_. This was good news.

Harry leaned back and held her at arm’s lengths. He was breathing as though he had just run a mile. “You’re pregnant? Really pregnant?”

“Supposedly!” she said, and she reached down to grab the Muggle pregnancy test from where he had just dropped it on the floor. “These things are pretty accurate, right?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” he said.

“I guess it’s a good thing I have an appointment with a Healer then!”

Harry ran a hand through his hair again, grinning like madman. “We’re going to have a baby!”

“ _Supposedly_ ,” she repeated. 

“But you’re right! It all makes sense! This whole time we’ve been worried that you weren't getting better, but you’re just pregnant. You’ll be able to play Quid—”

The realization of what he was saying seemed to hit him all at once. Harry shut his mouth with a sharp click of his teeth, and he flinched as though he had accidentally said something offensive. The look on his face was purely apologetic. Ginny shrugged and turned away; she had already thought of that particular problem. That didn't mean she wasn't hurting.

“Oh Ginny, I’m so sorry.” 

“I wanted to play in the World Cup.”

He put his arm on her shoulder and pulled her in close. “I know you did.”

“It’s just not fair.”

She allowed herself that one moment, that one tendril of misery, to encircle her heart. Quidditch was the only reason she had kept her sanity in the months after the Battle, and now she was expected to just step aside and give all that up for an accident? Even as the thought crossed her mind, Ginny felt guilty. She still _wanted_ this baby. She had stayed up all night wrestling with this strange mix of resentment and excitement. A few weeks ago, she had been dreading the possibility that her injury had stripped her of that ability, but here was the definitive proof that she could still get pregnant. Was she being ungrateful for this opportunity, when the alternative was so much worse? There were probably thousands of families out there begging for this chance. Even more so, there were probably way more women out there facing this exact same situation with a lot less support. She wasn’t alone; she had Harry. They had money, they had stability, and they had family who could help them. Other than Quidditch, this baby would not be a burden. In fact, it was more likely that this baby would be spoiled and loved beyond reason. 

Harry was doing his best to be supportive, but she could read his own internal battle clearly on his face. When he noticed her staring, though, his face split once more into a rather confounded smile. Something clicked in Ginny’s head.

Regardless of whether it had been intentional, she was carrying his baby. She and the man she loved more than anything else in the world had created a brand-new life. Ginny couldn’t help herself; she threw her arms back around him and kissed him soundly. 

Quidditch be damned.

(Sort of.)

o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Ginny took immense pleasure in channeling some her frustrations out onto her Healers. She yelled at them for a solid twenty minutes right at the beginning of her appointment, just to set the tone for the remainder of the day. The fact that they were also just as perplexed and amazed as she was did nothing to quell her temper. She didn't want them to marvel over her condition; she just wanted answers and a plan going forward. One simple test was all it took to confirm that she was indeed pregnant, and they quickly whisked her away to another part of the hospital.

She was almost seven weeks pregnant.

“George and Angelina’s wedding,” Ginny muttered in an undertone to Harry.

He groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “Don't ever tell them; they’d never let us live it down. That secret is going with us to the grave.”

“What I don't understand,” said Ginny, raising her voice again, “is how this managed to happen in the first place. We’ve been diligently using the contraception potion since I had to go off the charm. We were very careful! I’m a professional Quidditch player, for Morgana’s sake. Harry and I have never had a slip-up before, and we’ve been having sex for five years.”

“Please, Ginny, just shout it to the world,” Harry interjected sarcastically, glancing around at the wide-eyed intern who had just entered.

She ignored him.

“I want an apology!”

The main Healer assigned to Ginny’s case, Healer Ludy, was not the type to be intimidated by a Weasley show of force. She did not flinch once, not even when Ginny threatened her signature Bat-Bogey Hex. For the most part, the older witch had maintained an expression of detached professionalism. However, the moment Ginny demanded an apology, she gave a small sigh of exasperation, in a way that would have made even Professor McGonagall proud. Ginny felt the heat rise to her face; it was bad enough that she was having her own internal doubts about her age as a mother without being treated like a schoolgirl.

“Excuse me?” she asked, low and dangerous.

“Did you by chance take the contraception potion and your pain potions at the same time?”

Ginny blinked. “Maybe? Actually, yes I think so.”

“You’re not supposed to do that. It says so on the back of the bottle.”

“Are you...are you blaming _me_?”

“You should always read the fine print of everything you consume.”

Harry had to put an arm out to restrain Ginny from attacking her Healer. She sputtered, nearly inarticulate with rage, but when she went to reach for her wand, she found that it had already been removed from her pocket. Harry held it in his opposite hand. Fortunately for both of them, he still had enough of his faculties to respond for her: “Yes, I agree, but you should be able to trust your Healers when they prescribe potions with multiple side effects...especially when they tell you to stop the charm and use the potion instead. I think I might have to go talk to the Head of St. Mungo’s. I’m very dissatisfied with my fiancée’s care, and I don't think you want me sharing that opinion.”

The Healer’s eyes narrowed. Harry didn’t normally throw around his influence for bargaining, but it was — on the rare occasion that he did use it — quite effective. Ginny knew that he would do never speak to the Head, but Healer Ludy didn't need to know that his words were an empty threat.

“I apologize, Mr. Potter,” she finally relented.

Harry sat back. “I’m not really the one you should be apologizing to.”

“I apologize, Ms. Weasley.”

Ginny just glared at her.

The appointment wound up taking much longer than anyone had previously anticipated, so much so that their lunch was delayed by nearly two hours. There were so many tests that had to be completed, and it felt like Ginny’s room became a revolving door of specialists. They examined her back, watched her gait for signs of limping, and asked her to complete simple tasks of balance and coordination. Breakfast felt like an eternity ago, and hunger made Ginny feel nauseous, so she barely understood half of what they were saying. They then added a new Healer to her team, a younger woman named Alita Primrose, who had specialty in high-risk pregnancies. The first thing she did upon introduction was to give Ginny a potion for morning sickness.

“You’re a godsend,” said Ginny. “I like you already.”

“High-risk?” Harry asked apprehensively.

“Just a precaution,” shrugged the Healer. “We are still worried about her back.”

Her appointment concluded when all of Ginny’s Healers (Ludy, Primrose, the Head Healer for the English National Team, and one student intern) filed back into the room. They handed her a packet of information and took seats on the opposite side of the room. Ginny had to refrain from swinging her feet against the examination table; she felt rather like a child in trouble. It also didn’t help that the Head Healer for the English National Team looked rather grim.

“We have good news and bad news,” Healer Ludy said. “Which would you like to hear first?”

“Good news,” Ginny replied automatically.

“Well, the good news is that you can play Quidditch again.”

“However,” said Healer Primrose. “We strongly recommend that you don’t if you are wanting to keep this baby.”

The Head Healer for the English National Team, an older gentleman in his late seventies, looked at her over the top of his thick glasses. “Are you wanting to keep this baby, Ms. Weasley?”

Ginny turned to face Harry, and they met each other’s eyes with a wordless agreement. Although the question had been directed at her, she knew that she had to include him. Of course, he would never disagree with her in the moment (and especially not in front of an audience), but Ginny understood that he would be hurt if she didn't have his acceptance. The ring of her finger was a promise to include him in every aspect of her life. True, they weren’t _technically_ married yet, but this was his baby just as much as it was hers. Ginny didn’t fault those who made the decision to terminate, but it was not for her. 

Not for them.

Ginny blinked and looked down at the floor, speaking in a quiet voice: “Yes, I want to have this baby.”

“The contract will not hold you liable, but you will be asked to resign.”

“I understand,” she responded.

“And we hold the right to release a press statement for the newspaper.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, his fingers drumming on the armrest of his chair. Ginny could see the faint white scars on the back of his hand from where Umbridge had carved ‘I must not tell lies’ directly onto his skin. She knew that they were both dreading the media coverage.

“How much time will you give us?” she asked. “I would like a few days to tell my family.”

The man looked uncomfortable. “That’s not really my decision.”

“Can I have Angelina Weasley write the statement, then? She’s family.”

“I will do my best.”

They left the room soon after to give Ginny time to change back into her Muggle clothes. She pulled on her jeans and t-shirt in silence, too numb to think. When she bent down to tie the laces on her trainers, however, she felt an overwhelming sense of panic grip her heart. Her Quidditch career was done; the door was closed forever. Ginny slid to the floor, and she doubled over, pressing her face to her knees. Her dreams, her career, her passion...it was all gone. This was the worst torture she had ever experienced, far worse than anything the Carrows had ever thrown at her. 

“Ginny,” mumbled Harry’s quiet voice.

He touched her gently on the shoulder, and she flinched...but it was exactly what she needed to bring her back to the present. He didn’t say anything more, but he opened his arms up for a hug. She buried her face against his shoulder, and just for the moment, it was enough.


	6. Pieces Fall into Place

### CHAPTER FIVE: Pieces Fall into Place

Ginny slept for several hours after she got home from St. Mungo’s, waking up only to eat the pasta Kreacher made for dinner. Harry seemed to want to talk, and she felt bad for him, but she didn’t really feel like discussing the elephant in the room just yet. She even ignored several letters that had arrived from various family members, wanting to know the status of her injury. Instead, Ginny went back to sleep, claiming that she was still tired (which was the truth). She didn’t sleep through the whole night, though. Her long, afternoon nap caused her to wake up somewhere around two in the morning, when the house was deathly silent. The streetlight outside Grimmauld Place was flickering as usual. Harry was also asleep beside her. His mouth open as he quietly snored.

The house may have been quiet, but Ginny’s thoughts were loud and intrusive. It was almost as though there was another voice in her head, demanding to be heard. Words danced across her mind, knitting themselves together as if they were the lyrics to a half-remembered song. She sighed; there was no way she would be able to sleep any more tonight. She pushed back the covers and tiptoed to the closet, moving silently so as not to wake Harry. It was difficult work, though, because it felt like each of the bones in her bad knee made small popping noises with every step. Ginny was worried that it would wake him, for he was the world’s lightest sleeper, but he only sniffed and rolled over when she eased the closet door open. Luna’s notebook was still buried beneath all of her recreational Quidditch gear, wrapped in the horrid pink sweater she never wore. She carefully removed the notebook and backed out of the bedroom. It closed with a small click, and she was free to make her way downstairs.

There were two desks in the study, but Ginny hardly ever used the one that was reserved for her. She spread out Luna’s notebook on the unfamiliar, wooden surface, and then waved her wand to light the lamp in the corner of the room. A warm, yellow light filled the space, momentarily blinding her. In the seconds that followed, she reached for the quills, ink, and fresh parchment that was stored next to Harry’s cluttered desk. 

Even though the logical part of Ginny’s brain wanted her to create a sensible outline first, she felt an overwhelming urge to just start writing. She dipped a quill in the inkwell, placed the tip to paper, and let the voice in her head do the rest. Her thoughts tumbled out of her at an alarming rate, so much so that she often skipped words by accident in her rush to get every single thing down on paper. She also didn’t bother worrying about her handwriting, producing something that could barely be described as chicken scratch. It didn’t matter, though; the quality was not important at the moment. All she wanted was the relief of writing. 

When she had filled an entire page, Ginny’s eyes darted back up to the top to review the product of her late-night musings:

_“I did not experience the Cruciatus Curse until several months into term. The reason for this delay is still unknown to me, because there were plenty of opportunities where I found myself staring down the end of another’s wand, seconds away from terrible pain. I suspect that many of the teachers (and even Severus Snape himself) played a role in delaying the experience, because the Carrows and Jugson were always conveniently interrupted at just the right moment. Neville and Seamus also took more than their fair share of the abuse, which made me quite angry with them. Of course, it seems foolish now, but I was mad that they wanted to protect me...and sad that they felt it necessary in the first place._

_There are no appropriate words to describe the Cruciatus Curse. It feels like every single nerve in your body is on fire, but even that does not do it justice. It is the worst pain imaginable, and an overuse of the curse can literally drive a person insane. A notable example of this rarity is the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom after Harry’s first defeat of Voldemort in 1981. The Longbottoms were Aurors and prominent members of the Order of the Phoenix in the First Wizarding World. They never recovered, and they are still at St. Mungo’s to this day. Neville is their son._

_The Cruciatus Curse was used on me 12 times that year. I consider myself lucky that it wasn’t any more. Neville lost count after 18…”_

Ginny sat back and ran a hand through her long red hair. Her writing was far from perfect, but she was strangely satisfied with that style and her matter-of-fact tone of voice. She did not want to come across as overly emotional, and she knew that it was going to be really hard to keep from writing the mood swings that had plagued her that entire year. Her goal was to be honest and informative because, with a little luck, it would fall into the hands of the next generation. There was no denying her intentions; she wanted a book that would sell. That was what she, Luna, and Neville had agreed upon.

Tapping her fingers to her chin, Ginny reread the passage again. Then she turned the paper sideways and scribbled on the margin: 

_Ask Neville for permission to talk about parents. More details?_

Satisfied, she flipped the page over and continued writing. 

The night progressed as Ginny flew through page after page. She was not entirely sure where the inspiration to write had come from, but she let it continue for as long as it was there. In reality, she was sure that she had just started somewhere in the middle of her book, but it honestly did not matter and would not matter in the long run. It had been several years since Ginny had written anything of substance. In fact, the last time she could recall actually sitting down and penning something that was not school related was...Riddle’s Diary. An involuntary shiver ran down Ginny’s spine, and she felt goosebumps erupt on her skin. She had the sudden desire to fling the quill as far away from her as possible, but she stamped back the revulsion in her throat. This was more important. She wrote with reckless abandon.

She did not stop until the clock on the wall chimed five in the morning. It was only then that Ginny allowed herself to push back from the desk and stretch her sore arms and neck. Her fingers were stained with ink, along with fabric of her pajama bottoms where she had massaged her knee, but she was able to charm that off with a wave of her wand. Fourteen pages of her brand-new novel now sat where none had existed before. Her writing was cramped, disorganized, and barely legible in some places, but it was a start. 

Tucked in the back of a junk drawer, Ginny found a binder and a notepad. She took both for her cause and bundled them together in the drawer of her own desk. There was still the problem of telling Harry about her new project, but she was sure that he would not find it until she was ready to share it with him. He had no reason to go snooping through her desk. 

The pale light of the new sun had crept in through the curtained windows of the study, bleaching the walls of their soft blue color. Ginny knew that Kreacher would be up soon to complete his morning chores, and she did not want to stick around to see him. The nosy House-Elf would have far too many questions about why she had been up in the middle of the night. She would be better off going back to bed. Now that she had been drained of feverish inspiration, however, Ginny found that she was indeed tired again. She walked slowly up the stairs to their bedroom and climbed back in to bed. Her pillow was cool against her face. Harry rolled over, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“What are you doing up?” he asked sleepily.

“I woke up and went downstairs. I wasn’t going to come back to bed, but I missed you,” she responded, reaching out to caress his cheek. 

He pressed his lips against her palm, and she felt his day-old stubble scratch her skin. He snuggled closer, and Ginny curled into his embrace. His arms felt strong and comforting around her. She tucked her head in its usual position underneath his chin, their bodies fitting together like a puzzle piece. “Missed you too,” he mumbled, and she could feel his voice vibrating deep within his chest.

“By the way,” she whispered. “Happy Birthday.”

o - o - o - o - o - o - o

“I can’t believe it,” said Angelina.

Ginny dropped her head onto the table. “It’s true. I’m resigning.”

“Because you’re going to have a baby?”

“No, because I genuinely wanted to throw away my one chance at the World Cup.”

It was fortunate that her sister-in-law was not offended by her sarcasm. On the contrary, Angelina continued to stare at her in open-mouthed disbelief, until it no longer felt appropriate to maintain eye contact. Ginny looked down at her mug of tea, feeling as though heat was slowly creeping up her face. Angelina was three years older than her, and her very first Quidditch captain. There had always been a feeling of respect and authority; she was the first person to put faith in her potential. Ginny was sure that Angelina had learned the news directly from the team’s owner that morning, and she was also sure that her teammates had been told as well. She imagined that the reserve Chaser was feeling pretty smug right about now. 

If the whole thing had been an accident, why did Ginny feel so guilty?

“When are you due?” Angelina asked.

Ginny blinked. “What?”

“Come on, Gin, I’m asking as your sister-in-law...not as a member of your PR team! I want to know when I'm getting a niece or nephew!”

“Oh,” said Ginny, smiling a little in spite of herself. “March fourteenth.”

Angelina flung her arms around Ginny. “Oh! I’m so happy for you! Although, truthfully, I'm a little jealous because I wanted to be the next to have kids, but…”

“What?! You and George?”

“Don't sound so surprised, Ginger Girl. Your brother and I want to procreate.”

Ginny laughed. The use of the nickname ‘Ginger Girl’ had put her in much better spirits. It’s what the talent agent for the English National Team had called her...when he wasn't too busy calling her ‘Potter’s Girl’. It had become something of a running joke between the two of them. “Okay, Ang, I don't need details…but are you sure you want George producing offspring? I think Professor McGonagall might retire on the spot.”

“She’ll have enough on her hands with your child. What are you hoping for? Girl or boy?”

There was a brief pause while Ginny considered the question. She hadn’t given it much thought before. “I don’t know. I guess I would like a daughter, but I would be just as happy with a son.”

She could hear Harry’s footsteps on the stairs down to the kitchen. He entered, looking handsome in a button-down shirt and slacks. They would be meeting Ron and Hermione that night for his birthday dinner at a Muggle restaurant downtown. His hair was still wet from his shower, and Ginny could smell his body wash even from her spot on the opposite side of the kitchen. Her sense of smell was way more powerful than usual these days, and for whatever reason, it made her nose itch. When he noticed Angelina sitting at the kitchen table, he froze, and his eyes darted to Ginny real quick for confirmation. She nodded.

“Happy Birthday, Harry!” Angelina said, jumping up to give him a quick hug. “I also hear that congratulations are in order!”

He smiled, and Ginny could see that he was working hard to keep the expression from taking over his entire face. She knew that he was incredibly excited. “Thanks, Angelina.”

“Harry, do we want a boy or a girl?” Ginny asked.

“Shit, I don’t know,” he said, looking rather alarmed by the question. “I guess I don’t really care as long as it’s healthy.”

“I’ve heard that girls are harder to raise than boys,” Angelina said.

Ginny snorted. “Yeah, right. Fred and George were way harder than I was!”

“That’s not what your mum told me. She said that you were a bit of a nightmare at home when you were twelve and thirteen.”

“Hormones were a bitch for me too!” she replied, feigning mock offense. “And she knows that I could’ve been much worse with all the wonderful role models I had growing up.”

“Molly raised six boys and one Ginny,” Harry said dryly, helping himself to tea. “I can’t imagine that is a very representative sample size. Most girls don’t have six crazy brothers, and I can promise you that we are not having seven children.”

“Sorry, love,” Ginny interjected. “I forgot to tell you; I’m not stopping until we’ve reached fourteen additional Potters. Gotta have enough to field two Quidditch teams.”

This made Harry laugh. He took the seat next to her and gave her a playful shove. 

Angelina rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I know you have a dinner to catch, so we have to figure out how to notify the media that you are resigning.”

The smile on Ginny’s face instantly vanished.

“Yeah,” said Harry, shifting uncomfortably. “We don’t want to make this a big deal.”

“No, I agree! I know I’m a little bit biased because we’re family, but I don’t want this to turn into my sixth year at Hogwarts. Harry, you were in the newspaper practically every other week, and I’m reluctant to put my niece or nephew through that before they are even born. It is my opinion that we don’t have to say anything about the pregnancy in Ginny’s resignation announcement.”

“Really?” Ginny asked, her head jerking up to stare hopefully at her sister-in-law.

Angelina shrugged. “It’s none of their goddamn business. Quidditch is Quidditch, and we’ll leave the gossip for the Prophet. I mean, everyone’s going to know in a couple of months anyway.”

Ginny turned her head to stare into the empty kitchen fireplace. It had not been lit since early April, but Kreacher had kept it meticulously clean and ready for a fire at any given moment. Not a speck of dust lined the iron gray brick. They had not told the House-Elf about the baby yet, but Ginny would not have been surprised if he had already figured it out. Earlier that day, a bout of morning sickness had her locked in the bathroom for a solid half hour. That was about as obvious as it got without the baby bump. Just as Angelina had said, she would not be able to hide her condition in the coming months. 

However, that did not mean that she wanted to throw herself to the wolves already. 

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get there,” she said, sighing. “Keep it as short and sweet as possible.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Angelina replied. “In the meantime, though, what is your plan for telling the family?”

Ginny looked to Harry. She didn't want to make this decision all by herself just because he didn't have any family. 

“Ron and Hermione first,” he said.

It had never been up debate.

“Naturally,” said Angelina.

“And then my parents tomorrow morning,” Ginny finished. “My goal is to catch everyone important by tomorrow afternoon, so they know not to talk about it at Harry’s birthday party. We are not ready to tell Teddy yet. Or Victoire for that matter.”

Angelina checked her watch. “Well, you have twenty-seven hours to get that accomplished.”

Ginny groaned.

“Don’t worry,” said Angelina in a reassuring voice. “Your family will be nothing but supportive once they get over the initial shock. Just remember how happy they were when Fleur announced that she was pregnant with Victoire...and she was younger than you are right now!

“I forgot about that,” Ginny said, brightening considerably. “Thanks, Ang.”

They said their goodbyes to Angelina soon after. She gave them both a hug, and then patted Ginny’s (rather unimpressively flat) stomach in farewell. “Goodbye, Littlest Potter! Be nice to your mother. She’s giving up a lot for you!”

“Oh, stop it,” said Ginny. Secretly, however, she enjoyed the attention.

Angelina stepped into the fireplace and vanished in a burst of green flame. The resulting flash of color left the house feeling dark and empty once again. It was just the two of them sitting at the scrubbed wooden table with empty mugs of tea. Ginny slouched forward to rest her head on her hands. 

“I know it’s your birthday and all, but I’m seriously tired. Do we have to go?”

Harry gave her a conflicted look.

“I’m joking,” Ginny quickly added. “You’re sweet, but I did not get dressed up just to talk to Angelina in my kitchen. We’ve been planning this night for weeks.”

And it was the truth. She had made it a priority to look good that night, to make up for the fact that she still felt pretty sick and unhappy. Ginny wore a short, black Muggle dress with a silver pattern along the low neckline. Her hair was intentionally tousled, and she wore dark eyeshadow to distract from the sickly color of her skin. Harry liked this dress. He had told her once before.

He reached for her hand. “Thank you for coming anyway. I know you don’t feel well.”

“It’s okay. I’m actually pretty excited to tell Ron and Hermione.”

“Me too,” he said quickly. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something…”

He turned to face her, and his thumb rubbed small circles across the back of her hand. Ginny could count every scar and callous on his skin, which was several shades darker than her own. Once again, and certainly not for the last time, she wondered what a child of theirs would look like. 

“Can we ask Ron and Hermione to be the baby’s godparents?”

“Oh,” said Ginny. “Don’t you think it’s a little soon?”

Harry lowered his eyes. “I guess…”

There was something about his expression that made Ginny pause. Her mother had once told her many years ago that being in a relationship was all about balance. There would always be moments of contention, but if it was not a big deal then she should not let it become one. Even though Ginny would have preferred waiting, and even though she would have preferred if they also consider her friends as well, she knew that it was extremely important to Harry. It was not really a strong preference; Ron was her brother, and Ginny trusted him more than anyone else in the world. 

“It’s fine,” she said. “Ron and Hermione are the godparents...but I get to pick the next one, okay?”

“Already planning for baby number two?” Harry responded, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Remember what I said about fourteen kids? I wasn’t joking.”

They met Ron and Hermione at an Italian restaurant on the other side of the city from Grimmauld Place. Ginny spotted them first from across the street as she and Harry climbed the stairs up from the Underground, and she waved at them cheerfully. Her brother and his wife hurried to greet them at the crosswalk. Ron was dressed similarly to Harry, in gray pants and a nice shirt. Hermione wore a skirt and a pleasant green blouse. The four of them took turns embracing, and then Hermione reached up to give Harry a kiss on the cheek.

“Happy birthday!” she said. 

Ron immediately grabbed Ginny on the arm. “Okay, out with it! You’ve been keeping us in the dark for far too long.”

“Ron...” Hermione warned.

“No,” said Ron, his face tinged pink with embarrassment. “I’m her brother. If it’s bad news, then I want to be there to support her!”

_Damn hormones_ , Ginny thought. She had to swallow past a lump in her throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t responded to any of the letters. I just needed time to think.”

“So, you’re barred from playing?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Well…” Ginny started.

She looked to Harry, and he gave her an encouraging nod.

“The truth is...I’m resigning.”

There was silence while the two of them processed the meaning behind her words. Ron looked positively anguished by her decision, and simultaneously confused and _disappointed_. Hermione, on the other hand, nodded in a knowing way. “Well, I don’t blame you,” she said gently. “You were seriously injured, and you could have died. I’m sure anyone would have made the same choice given the circumstance.”

“That’s not it,” said Ginny, sighing.

“I don’t understand…” Ron started.

Ginny looped an arm around Harry to bring him back into the conversation. Even with her heels on, he still stood quite a few inches taller than her. “I’m resigning because Harry and I are going to have a baby.”

Hermione squeaked and clapped a hand to her mouth.

“I know,” Ginny said. She couldn’t help but smile because her brother looked as though his eyes were going to bulge right out of his face.

“Wh-wh-where did this even come from?” Hermione gasped.

“We didn’t exactly plan it,” answered Harry, his face going red. “Bit of an accident, really, but we’re still excited.”

“Due date?”

“March fourteenth!”

Hermione waved a hand in front of her face, as though it were the hot July air that was bothering her and not the revelation of a lifetime. She looked a little pale. Her brown eyes met Ginny’s and they both started laughing, nervous energy fueling their emotions. Soon Hermione was sobbing with happiness, clutching at both Ginny and Harry with enough force to leave a bruise. 

“Wait a minute — WHAT?” shouted Ron.

His wife recovered enough to shoot him a reproachful look.

“Do try to keep up, Ronnie,” Ginny said in a teasing voice. “I know you’re always pretty slow, but we’re several paces ahead of you. I’m going to have a baby.”

“Really?” he asked in a weak voice, looking to Harry for confirmation.

“Yeah, she’s seven weeks pregnant. Due in March.”

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking a little bit like a fish out of water. He also appeared quite pale, which was saying something because both he and Ginny already had pale skin to begin with. Finally, he managed to croak: “I — I really don’t know what to say.”

“We say ‘Congratulations’,” Hermione replied, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I cannot believe this!”

She continued to stammer excitedly as they entered the restaurant. Due to the fact that they had a reservation, they were seated almost immediately near the back by a window. Ginny knew that the good news was not quite over yet; she could practically feel Harry shaking with excitement beside her. He didn’t even reach for the menu.

“There’s something else I wanted to ask you,” he started. “Would you be the baby’s godparents?”

Ginny expected Hermione to burst into tears again, but she definitely did not expect Ron to stand up right from the table, walk over, throw his arms around the both of them, and bury his face in her shoulder. That was all it took for Ginny to start crying as well. Through the hazy film of tears, she glanced over Ron’s head and saw their waiter slowly backing away. That was alright with her; they were having a moment.


	7. Harry's Birthday Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Did I mention that I was doing Camp NaNoWriMo? And that I have the next week off for Spring Break? My goal is to give you a chapter every couple of days for the entire month of April! And I’m super excited because I feel like I actually have a pretty good chance of cranking out the full 50,000 words.

### CHAPTER SIX: Harry’s Birthday Party

Hermione dumped an entire arsenal of books onto their kitchen table.

“Somehow, I knew you were going to do that,” Harry said.

Ginny picked up the nearest book and brushed the dust off the front cover. It looked to be a thousand years old at least and smelled like it had been living in some old lady’s house for the last nine hundred and ninety-nine. Even the gold embossing on the title (“Magical Midwifery”) had started to fade. 

“Where did you find this one? An estate sale?” she asked.

“That was in the free bin at the London Magical Library. You can have it. The rest are rentals, of course. They are under my name, so please don't mess them up.”

“Hermione,” Harry started, “did you even sleep last night?”

She appeared completely unconcerned by his question and began sorting the books into two piles. “Don't be ridiculous, Harry, of course I did. Ginny, did you know that your baby is currently the size of a blueberry?”

“Really?” Ginny asked, resting her hand on her stomach. It was weird to think of her baby as something other than general fatigue and morning sickness. 

“Why do they always have to draw comparisons to food?” Ron grumbled.

He was standing at the back of the kitchen, still holding onto the dish he had prepared for their family get-together: a fruit salad. Ginny stifled a laugh and then turned back to the two book piles in front of her. She placed the ancient book on top of the nearest one, but Hermione immediately snatched it up and placed it on the other side.

“That book is extremely outdated and belongs in this pile, which focuses on the history and cultural aspects of magical pregnancies.”

“I'm sorry,” said Ginny. “Will there be any homework? An essay perhaps? How many inches would you like me to write?”

Hermione scowled. Behind her back, Harry forced himself to turn away, but even just _imagining_ his facial expression was making it very hard for Ginny to keep a straight face. It was very like Hermione to go to the library and rent out every single book they had on the subject. Hermione Jean Granger never did anything without extensive research, and apparently that also included becoming an aunt and a godmother. She grabbed the topmost book off the nearest pile and handed it to Ginny. 

“I’ve heard that's the best. You should start with that one.” 

Ginny tucked it against her chest. “Thank you, Hermione. I really do appreciate your help.”

Harry was still trying not to laugh.

“Personally, I think having children early is a smart decision,” Hermione continued, speaking as though she had just defended her thesis on the subject. “You have the support of your parents and family, and it also allows you to get through the early years without too much strain on your eventual career goals.”

“Thought about this a lot, have you?” Ron asked.

Hermione’s face went pink, but she did not reply.

Ginny frowned. “Hermione, I have no career. Not anymore.”

“Yes, I’ve thought about that as well.”

From the side pocket of her bag, Hermione withdrew half a dozen brochures. She spread them out across the table in front of Ginny, who picked up the nearest one with some interest. From what she could tell, it appeared as though they were all informational packets for various departments within the Ministry. One of them was for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which was Hermione’s own place of work. 

“Oh,” said Ginny. “You really do think of everything, don’t you?”

“I thought maybe you could come get lunch with me sometime in next week, and I’ll introduce you to a couple of people. It would give you a chance to scope out the territory. Some departments are definitely better than others.”

“Or you could just come visit me,” Harry added, smiling.

Ginny wrinkled her nose at him. “Yeah, I’ll you know.”

Truthfully, she had no intention of doing anything as _mediocre_ as working at the Ministry of Magic, but she was not about to tell the others that...especially when all three of them currently worked there. However, getting lunch with Hermione seemed like the perfect opportunity to interview her about her role in the creation of Dumbledore’s Army. Ginny had plans to contact every single person who had some involvement, but she would be lying if she didn’t admit that Hermione was at the top of her list. The idea, after all, had been hers right from the start. She wondered what her friend would think about the project. It had literally doubled in size overnight, because Ginny had once again found herself awake at two in the morning. Every moment not spent thinking about the baby had been devoted to this new calling. 

“Shouldn’t we be going soon?” Ron interrupted.

“Oh, thank you,” Hermione said, checking her watch. “I would have completely forgotten.”

Harry extended a hand to Ginny, and she used it to pull herself to her feet. “Are you ready?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m ready to have my mum for moral support.”

They traveled to the Burrow using the Floo Network. Since they had planned Harry’s birthday party for that evening, their typical Sunday family gathering had been moved to Saturday morning. The first thing Ginny noticed when she got to her feet was the overwhelming smell of food from the kitchen. She could pick out pot roast, roasted potatoes, boiled parsnips, gravy, and a traditional Yorkshire pudding. Harry almost knocked into her as he slid out of the fireplace.

“You alright?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “I feel like I’m going to be sick again.”

Harry rubbed her back. “I’m sorry you have been having such bad morning sickness.”

_Crash!_

The loud sound of a dish breaking startled them so much that they both jumped several inches into the air. Harry immediately withdrew his wand, half crouched in front of Ginny as though to protect her. It was only Molly Weasley, though. She had dropped the bowl of gravy right onto the floor. It had splattered halfway up the wall, and some even got onto the ceiling. Her mouth was open wide in absolute shock, and she had both hands clasped at her collar of her robes. Clearly, she had just overheard them.

“Surprise!” Ginny said, and then she had to quickly excuse herself to the bathroom.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o

A mug of ginger tea and the shade of the back garden did wonders for Ginny’s stomach. Her mother had also brought her some plain toast and a banana instead of the giant meal that had been prepared, but Ginny didn’t immediately feel like eating. Fortunately, her mother did not push too hard. She sat on the bench beside her and dabbed at her misty eyes with the corner of her apron. Every now and then, she would look up and smile so bright that it made Ginny feel like a million Galleons.

“I’m so sorry about the timing, baby girl,” her mother said.

“It is what it is,” Ginny sighed.

Molly Weasley reached up with a gentle hand and brushed the hair from her face. “I know how much it meant to you, and my heart hurts knowing that you will have to give up on that dream.”

“You didn’t even want me to play Quidditch.”

“No, but you did...and that’s the only that mattered.”

Ginny didn't even care that she was twenty-one and no longer a child. She allowed her mother to pull her into a strong embrace. All around them, the trees bounced and swayed in the gentle wind. It was different inside the house, though; Harry had been tasked with providing more information to the rest of the family. Ginny trusted her father to act the diplomat, but every now and then, her brothers would stand up to spy on her through the kitchen window. 

“You’re going to make a great mother,” said Molly Weasley.

“You really think so?” Ginny asked.

“Yes, of course. Without a doubt.”

“And you aren’t mad at me?”

Her mother’s brown eyes were stern. “For an accident? No. However, I’m not going to lie to you. I would have preferred that you and Harry were married before having children...but like you said, it is what it is. You’ve been together for a quite a long time, and he’s proven his love and devotion a thousand times over. He’s going to make a great father, and I think we both know that. I am certainly not going to regret any of my grandbabies, no matter the circumstances of their birth.”

“I needed to hear that,” Ginny whispered. “I’ve been feeling this enormous sense of guilt since I found out. Like I’m already doing this baby a huge disservice by bringing them into a world where I didn’t even plan to have a baby. I want to have it, of course...but I also don’t. Does that make sense?”

“Of course, it makes sense. Did I ever tell you what it felt like when I found out I was pregnant with you?”

Ginny shook her head. Her nausea had abated somewhat, and she reached for the toast...if only to have something to nibble on. She wondered how the conversation was going inside the house, but she was not ready to return to the kitchen with all the food spread out across the table. She would just have to apologize to Harry later.

“By the time Ron came around, the war was not going very well. Your father and I had tricked ourselves into believing that everything would be okay, and that the world couldn’t possibly be as bad as everyone always said, but things got worse with every passing year. I felt so stupid for having all these young babies in the middle of a crisis. In fact, I was going to stop at six...but then you came along.”

“Sorry for ruining your plans,” Ginny said, smirking.

Her mother’s words, however, remained solemn. “People were dying left and right. The entire McKinnon family was murdered, and I lost Gideon and Fabian that summer as well. You were born in August, and you were such a tiny little thing. I felt terrible for bringing you into such a world. I felt so selfish.”

“I had no idea.”

“It’s not something I share often,” her mother said with a humorless smile. “The point I’m trying to make is that sometimes things just happen for a reason, even if we are not privileged enough to know that reason yet. Babies come exactly when they are supposed to come.”

Ginny frowned. “Please don’t let Harry hear you say that. He would have a panic attack if he heard someone talking about fate, reason, and our baby in the same sentence. It sounds too much like prophecies.”

“I’ll remember that,” replied her mother, looking troubled. 

By that point, however, Ginny felt well enough to make it back inside the house. She was greeted with enthusiastic cheers and applause from the rest of her family. In response, she gave an over-the-top bow, like a circus performer. Harry shot her a look of utmost gratitude; clearly, he had not enjoyed the interrogation. If she was being critical, she would have said that her brothers’ smiles were a little too fixed, but she knew that they would never say anything to her face. That was not the British way. Instead, she would be the subject of family gossip for the next eight months, or however long it would be until she had this baby. Overall, she was extremely glad that her secret was a secret no longer.

“Congratulations, little sister,” Percy said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

“I am so glad zhat Dominique and Victoire will have anozzer cousin to grow up with,” Fleur chimed in, bouncing baby Niki on her knee.

A small bubble of excitement blossomed in Ginny’s chest. “I didn't even think about that. My baby will only be a year younger than Niki. They’ll be at Hogwarts together!”

“Well, Ginny, we haven't decided whezzer to send zhe girls to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons yet.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “They're going to Hogwarts. She's only saying that to appease her mother, who seems to be under the impression that her granddaughters are too British.”

Fleur gave him a dark look.

“Anyway,” said Ginny, taking the seat next to Harry. “We’re not really ready to tell the world about this just yet. Specifically, I mean the Daily Prophet. I had to tell you because I’m resigning from the National Team, but it would mean a lot to me if you could please not share it with anyone outside of the family yet.”

“Sorry, Gin, but you won’t be able to keep that a secret,” Charlie said, his eyebrows raised.

“It will be at least another two months before it starts becoming obvious,” their mother answered. “Plus, this is Ginny’s first baby, so she’s probably going to have a pretty small bump until the very end. We might even be able to hide it from the Prophet for several months if we are careful.”

“It’s true,” Fleur responded, running a hand through her silvery hair. “I was very small with Victoire. No one had any idea I was even pregnant!”

Ginny refrained from looking across the table at Hermione. It had been obvious that Fleur was pregnant even from the very beginning, but only because she had been unable to refrain from talking about it every minute of every day. 

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of activity. Ginny joined Hermione in the apple orchard to hang fairy lights through the clearing. They also hung paper lanterns, and crystal baubles to reflect the sunlight into little fractured rainbows all over the ground. Birthday celebrations for the Weasleys were always a big deal. There was always cake, fireworks, and plenty of adult beverages to go around. Ginny, of course, would not be partaking in the alcohol this year, but she was definitely excited for a chance to talk with Neville and Luna about the book. Harry’s guest list this year was not very long. This did not matter though, because she was sure that her brothers would make it a night for him to remember. 

It was his last birthday celebration without children. 

The first of the guests to arrive was Andromeda Tonks, who brought both her grandson Teddy as well as Bill and Fleur’s oldest, Victoire. The two of them had just gotten back from a playdate, and they still smelled of chlorine and sun cream after a long day at the pool. As soon as Teddy spotted Harry from the opposite side of the back garden, he took off running at full sprint. Harry quickly braced himself for what was probably the world’s most aggressive hug. Teddy latched onto him with a high-pitched cry of delight, nearly dislodging Harry’s glasses right off his face. 

“What did I say?” said Ginny’s mother, levitating an enormous cake out through the kitchen window. “He’s going to make an excellent father.”

Ginny rolled her eyes on principle, but the second her mother’s back was turned, she allowed herself a pleased smile. 

“Harry, guess what?!” Teddy announced.

“What?”

“I learned how to blow bubbles in the pool today!”

Harry, still holding onto his five-year-old godson, walked over to Ginny so that she could give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Did you hear that, Ginny? He can almost swim already!”

“Clever boy!” Ginny said. “We’ll have to take you swimming in the river soon. That’s where I learned how to swim when I was a little kid.”

“Really?”

“Really, really!”

The other guests arrived soon after. There was the usual bunch: Neville, Hannah, Dean, Seamus, Ernie, Justin, Parvati, Padma, Anthony, and Terry. Then, at one point, Hagrid arrived by the back gate carrying three additional cakes that he had baked on his own. There was also Lee Jordan, Dennis Creevey, Audrey’s sister Piper, and Percy’s friend Ricardo Alvarez. Next, Harry’s old Quidditch team showed up, and Ginny spent a good twenty minutes hiding in the shed to avoid Oliver Wood’s usual interrogation about the English National Team. Thankfully, Angelina caught wind of the situation, and she showed up to argue with him about league standings. The last person to arrive was none other than Luna Lovegood herself.

“Luna!” Harry exclaimed, rushing forward to hug her. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“It hasn’t been quite that long!” Luna replied.

Ginny walked over to hug her as well. “I told you! I told you he wanted to see you!”

Luna was swarmed by the other members of the DA, who all wanted to hear how her studies in Thailand were going. She happily obliged and told everyone about the Naga and what it was like working for the Scamander Foundation. Drinks were passed around, and Ginny grabbed one of the fizzing Muggle sodas that Dennis had brought for everyone to try. They sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to Harry (with Teddy and Victoire leading the enthusiastic chorus), and then everyone grabbed a slice of cake. Even Hagrid’s cakes got eaten, although it became apparent halfway through the night that they were just being dumped down the gnome holes around the garden.

She might have been imagining it, but Ginny thought she felt her family watching her. She caught Percy surreptitiously whispering to Audrey when he thought she wasn't looking, and Angelina gave her a wink when they caught eyes from the opposite side of the garden. Part of Ginny felt older, more mature; like she was about to embark on this fantastic rite of passage. She was going to be a mother after all. However, the other part of her felt like an imposter…like she was standing on the edge of the celebration and judging herself. Fleur had children, and Katie Bell had a baby girl as well. Both of those women seemed much older and wiser than Ginny had ever felt before.

When the guests of the party were otherwise preoccupied with a demonstration of George’s latest invention for the joke shop, Ginny hooked an arm around Neville and Luna, guiding them to the apple orchard where she could talk with them alone. They took a seat underneath a particularly old and gnarled tree that the Weasleys had once used to hang Quidditch hoops from the branches. It was covered in carvings, scratches, and other marks signifying the progression of time. Ginny eased herself down into a stretch to relieve the pressure on her lower back. She had been standing most of the evening. 

“Is this about the book, Ginny?” Luna asked.

“No, but I actually started writing. Would you like to hear more about it?”

Neville crossed his arms. “Maybe later, Ginny. First, you are going to tell us how your appointment with the Healers went. I’ve noticed that you’ve been strangely quiet tonight.”

“Is it obvious?” Ginny asked, worried.

“You are a little out of character,” Luna replied thoughtfully, “but you’re my best friend, so maybe I’m the only one who noticed?”

Neville shook his head. “No, it’s definitely obvious. At Harry’s birthday party last year, you challenged Oliver Wood to see who could do the most push-ups.”

“Oh yeah,” Ginny said, laughing. “And I won, too.”

“Exactly. Today, it’s the opposite. You’ve spent most of the night hanging around in the background...so what’s up?”

“Well, Luna...you were right.”

The other girl leapt to her feet, excitement flooding her face. “You’ve seen a Crumple-Horned Snorkack?”

Ginny blinked. “What? No, Luna.”

“Oh,” she replied, casually sitting back down again. “Apologies. Please continue.”

Ginny beat out a drumroll on her thighs. “I’m pregnant!”

Up until that point, everyone had either reacted with surprise, delight, or outright disbelief. If she was being perfectly honest with herself, Ginny quite enjoyed seeing her friends and family burst into happy tears. She expected to feel special; that was the curse of being a youngest child. However, that was not the reaction she got from her two best friends. Luna smiled and nodded as though Ginny had only announced a plan to go eat dessert. Neville, however, groaned. 

“Excuse me,” Ginny said, slightly affronted.

“Oh, sorry!” he stammered. “I meant to say Congratulations!”

“That was not even close to congratulations, Longbottom!”

He laughed at his own predicament. “I’m sorry. I was groaning because Hannah made a bet with me that you were pregnant, and I took it because I’m an idiot. I owe her a vacation now.”

“What the hell!” said Ginny, chuckling as well. “I can’t believe the two of you are making bets about me behind my back. And I’m pretty sure that means you owe me a vacation instead.”

“Try and explain that to her,” said Neville, pointing at his wife in the crowd of people. Hannah wore a sequined top that glittered in the light of the paper lanterns. “She totally called it.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. 

“I think you and Harry will be excellent parents,” Luna remarked. 

“Thank you, my dear. At least I have one supportive friend!”

Neville raised his hand in a gesture of defeat. “Hey! I said I was sorry!”

They sat and talked for the better part of half an hour. Ginny was glad that Neville and Luna did not care enough about Quidditch to ask for details about her resignation, because she was tired of having to explain the predicament over and over. Instead, they talked about babies...in a general sense of the word, of course; none of them knew enough about how to take care of a baby for there to be any real conversation. For the first time, though, Ginny allowed herself to think about what her own little blueberry would be like once they were born. Would they have black hair or green eyes? What about red hair or freckles?

“You’re smiling,” Luna noted.

“Because I’m happy.”


	8. Ginny the Writer

### CHAPTER SEVEN: Ginny the Writer

Luna was scheduled to go back to Thailand the day before Ginny’s birthday. On that Saturday, the two of them hung out at Luna’s place for the majority of the day, which gave them plenty of opportunities to talk about the pacing of the book. It was raining pretty hard outside, so much so that it was actually quite chilly in the rook-like house. Ginny sat wrapped in a blanket on top of Luna’s bed, with nothing but her head and the socks on her feet poking out. The past two weeks had been absolutely miserable. Ginny’s morning sickness had been so bad that Harry even had to bring her back to St. Mungo’s for a stronger type of potion. Magic, as it so happened, rarely gave a perfect solution. The potions that were designed to combat morning sickness could only be taken once a day, and Ginny was pretty sure that her morning sickness was more accurately an all-day sickness. In fact, she had even lost a little bit of weight. The Healers at St. Mungo’s assured her that it was all still perfectly normal.

So, Ginny sat curled on Luna’s bed while the other girl packed and repacked her bags. She would have rather stayed home on this particular rainy day, but since this was her last opportunity to hang out with her best friend for many months, Ginny had dragged herself there (sweat pants and all). Luna had already started to make plans with the Scamander Foundation for an extended vacation during the month of March and April, just so she could be there for the baby’s arrival. This meant more to Ginny than she could ever possibly put into words.

“Do you want this?” Luna asked, holding up a copy of the Daily Prophet.

Ginny stuck her head up even further out of the blankets to squint at the article in Luna’s hand. It was the piece Angelina had sent to the Daily Prophet about a week and a half ago. Short, sweet, and only a couple of sentences long, it was the announcement of her resignation. Ginny shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“It’s for the best,” said Luna. “The Daily Prophet is still complete and utter trash. There’s an article in there about the migration patterns of Mooncalves across North America, and they’ve got all the dates of the full moon wrong!”

“How dare they!” Ginny replied, more for Luna’s benefit than for her own.

“It’s very unprofessional,” Luna continued. “You know, I’d give anything to see your book reach the Prophet’s Bestseller List. That would make them change their tune.”

“Please don't jinx me, Luna. I hate all this talk about interviews and the like. What if I don't even finish the book in time for the baby? Then I might never get it done, and this will all have been for nothing.”

“I have faith in you.”

Ginny sighed. “I wish I did as well.”

“How much of it do you have written?”

“Not too much. I started writing about our detention in the Forbidden Forest last night. Didn’t get very far. Felt like crap.”

A small smile played on Luna’s lips as she struggled with the buckles on her bag. As terrible as that trip had been, it was still an integral part of their friendship.

“Have you talked to Harry about this yet?” Luna asked.

“No…”

“What are you waiting for?”

Ginny groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. We’ve been talking about buying a house lately, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring up past trauma. The book is a couple pieces of paper sitting in a drawer. We always knew that I was going to do this, but for so many years I couldn’t touch the project because it still hurt too much. And then, suddenly — I don’t know — it just happened! It doesn’t feel real yet. I’m afraid I’m going to lose my nerve if I talk to Harry because then I have to admit that it’s a real thing!”

“You either tell him now, or you tell him after you’ve interviewed a whole bunch of people...and then he’s going to feel like you intentionally left him out.”

“I’m not leaving him out,” Ginny said in a small voice.

Luna did not immediately respond. She dropped her bag by the staircase in the center of the room, in the perfect location to retrieve it before her departure in the morning. She turned back to Ginny and requested, with a gesture, to sit down next to her on the bed. Ginny scooted over to make room, lifting a corner of the blanket in case Luna wanted under as well. She didn’t. Instead, she reached for the box on her bedside table that contained all the nail varnish she owned. Luna, of course, chose her favorite shade of purple. Ginny chose green for the Holyhead Harpies. 

“I think Harry might have his feelings hurt if you waited a really long time.”

“I know, I know,” Ginny said through her teeth. She had already started to paint her toes, but the smell of the varnish made her head feel slightly dizzy. 

“So you’re going to tell him?”

“I want to talk to Hermione first. We have lunch together on Monday.”

Luna frowned at her. “She’ll tell you the exact same thing.”

“Yep,” said Ginny. “Because you’re both the smartest and most intuitive women I know, and if I didn’t give you a daily dose of frustration, you would be super bored with life.”

“Ginny, I do research for the Scamander Foundation. I find my job to be both stimulating and rewarding. Your stubbornness does not add anything to my life.”

“I wonder,” said Ginny, elbowing her friend playfully in the ribs, “is it the job you find stimulating...or perhaps working with Rolf Scamander?”

There was a pause. 

“Well, I must admit, Rolf and I did hook up.”

And that was how Ginny spilt green nail varnish all over Luna’s bedspread.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o

On Monday morning, Ginny felt well enough for a run. She awoke at dawn and stepped out into the gray, hazy mist. It was humid, even for the early hour, but she was glad for the heat. This was what summer felt like, and the only thing that was missing was the wind through her hair as she flew on a broomstick. She jogged...but not for very long because of her leg, and not for very far because of her stomach. All in all, she was only gone for about twenty minutes, but it was most exercise she had done in almost three months. The sweat on her forehead made her feel alive. Active people don’t thrive with inaction.

Back in Grimmauld Place, she walked upstairs to the bathroom and stripped for a shower. She stood for several minutes under the hot water, until it ran in rivulets down her skin and through her hair. The bathroom door opened and closed very quietly.

“Can I join you?” Harry asked, his voice gentle and unassuming. 

“Yes,” she said.

He pulled back the shower curtain and stepped inside. Both of them flinched as the water struck his skin and sprayed in a thousand different directions. After a moment of awkward shuffling, they arranged themselves in a position where neither of them was standing too far out in the cold. The act of showering together was never as romantic as the movies always made it seem, but Ginny liked it for the level of vulnerability it provided. Her hands moved down Harry’s bare chest, pausing on the scars that still remained.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He ran his fingers through her long hair, gently untangling each snag he encountered along the way. “How does it feel to be twenty-two?”

“To be honest, not much different from twenty-one,” she replied. 

“How do you feel this morning?”

Ginny considered her own body. “My leg doesn’t hurt at all, although it was a little stiff when I was running. My back is pretty sore right now.”

Harry gently turned her around so that he could work his thumbs along the places in her spine that still gave her trouble. Ginny sighed and allowed him to continue. It was still early in the morning, but she figured this was a very good way to start the day. She pulled her hair over her shoulder, and he leaned forward to kiss her along the nape of her neck. 

“And your stomach?” he asked.

She grimaced. “Doesn’t hurt right now, but it doesn’t really start till mid-morning anyway.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad today.”

He kissed her some more, slowly and deliberately, and his lips brushed against her own scars and the tattoo of Fred’s jackal Patronus on the upper part of her arm. His hands moved from her back, over her hips, until they rested on her stomach. Ginny slowly turned back around. He kissed her collarbone, her neck, and her jawline until their lips finally met. She leaned into him, not caring that there was water streaming over her eyelids.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Harry began, muttering directly into her ear, “but I think your boobs have gotten bigger.”

“Trust me, I noticed,” she replied.

“Do they hurt?”

Ginny’s thoughts stumbled as his hands continued to wander south. She accented each of her words with a kiss on his lips. “Just a little.”

“Then I’ll be extra gentle.”

Later, at the breakfast table, Ginny ate fruit with yogurt as Harry peeled apart the pages of the Daily Prophet. Like usual, he passed her the Quidditch rankings before delving into the section on politics. The Holyhead Harpies were still middle ranking, but Puddlemere United had moved up several slots since yesterday. Ginny wrinkled her nose in distaste; whoever had written their post-game write up had made several major grammatical errors. She considered the humor of sending it back to them with all the corrections in red ink.

“Does Master Harry want any more coffee?” Kreacher asked in his bullfrog voice.

“No thank you, Kreacher. You really don’t have to do this. I’m not forcing you wait on us during breakfast.”

Kreacher bowed low to the ground, struggling slightly. “Kreacher lives to serve the Potters now.”

Harry met Ginny’s eyes over the top of his newspaper, and he sighed a little in exasperation. She had no sympathy for his predicament. It was on his insistence that the House-Elf be allowed to do whatever he wanted, which apparently included his continued servitude. Regardless of whether or not they liked it, they were stuck with him for the foreseeable future.

There was the sound of paper crinkling as Harry bent the pages to look at her. “What’s your plan for today?”

“Well, I’m going to hang around here for a bit, and then I’m going to meet Hermione for lunch.”

He nodded. “Sounds good. Should I come back here after work, or should I go straight to the Burrow?”

“Straight to the Burrow is fine.”

Ginny pushed the last of her raspberries around the bowl, trying to decide whether or not she could risk eating a few more bites. Surely, the fruit was good for her, but she disliked getting sick in public. She had the distinct impression that Harry had more to say, so she looked back up to find him watching her.

“I think I’m going to go visit Gringotts on my break today,” he said.

“Why?” she asked. “Haven’t you had enough of the place already?”

“Enough for a lifetime...but no, I’m going to double check the money in the account. I really think we should seriously consider what we talked about last week.”

He meant buying a house, but Ginny knew that he was reluctant to say anything in front of Kreacher. She hated not being able to speak freely in her own home. Even though Harry was certain that the House-Elf was not going to sell any more of their secrets to the Malfoys for a little bit of affection, they often tap-danced around topics that had the potential of hurting his feelings. It would absolutely kill Kreacher if they asked him to move. Even after all these years, he was still obsessed with the Black Family House. Not once in the last six years had he taken off Regulus Black’s locket. 

“We can talk about it later,” Ginny said. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought as well.”

“Good,” he replied, folding up the individual pages of the Prophet. “I’m looking forward to that conversation, but now I’ve got to leave for work.”

He passed his plate over to Kreacher and stood up. Ginny offered her cheek for a kiss as Harry walked by, and he happily obliged, lingering for a little longer than was necessary. Then he pulled on his cloak and the rest of his uniform before stepping into the fireplace. Ginny got a quick glimpse of him as Harry the Auror, the one everyone knew outside of their little circle of friends and family. He was dressed all in black, save for the silver buckles that held everything in place. He wore bracers on his arms, and a wand holster at his hip. Overall, the effect was quite intimidating, though Ginny had to admit that it was part of her attraction to him. He noticed her staring. In the split second before the flash of green flame, he winked at her. 

Ginny shook her head, smiling, and turned back to the Quidditch rankings.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o

I was much later in the day when Ginny slid out onto the polished wood floor of the atrium. There were feet all around her, and she quickly stood up so that she would not get trampled in the noonday rush. There was a steady stream of workers coming back from lunch, so she stepped off to side to wait for Hermione. No one paid her much attention other than the security guard, who kept frowning at her as though he could not remember where he had seen her before. To avoid making eye contact, she stared up at the Fountain of Magical Brethren, which had been replaced and revised some since the end of the war. The biggest change since then, of course, was the fact that they all stood on even ground.

“Ginny!” 

She spun around; Hermione was shouldering her way through the crowd towards her. She wore long robes of deep purple with the Ministry badge pinned to the front. Her bushy brown hair had been pushed back from her face by a headband, and she carried a plain black purse. When she was close enough, Ginny reached out to give her a hug. 

“Hey, Hermione! Good to see you!”

“Happy birthday!”

A few more people stopped to stare at them, recognition dawning on their faces. Ginny grew apprehensive, and she put an arm on Hermione’s shoulder to lead her away from prying ears. Unlike Ginny, however, Hermione seemed completely unconcerned. She was probably used to it at this point; she worked there every day.

“Thank you! Do you want to go eat somewhere in the city?”

Hermione’s lips twitched in the approximation of a smile. “Why? You don’t want to eat at the Ministry cafeteria on your birthday?”

“Not particularly.”

“Let’s go then.”

She waved her wand and charmed her robes to morph into something a little more appropriate for the Muggle world; a shorter, stylish dress in the same shade of eggplant purple. Then she took Ginny’s hand and led her towards the little red telephone box that was the visitor’s entrance. Someone from behind them shouted, and Ginny turned to look over her shoulder.

“Hey! Aren’t you Ginny Weasley?”

She laughed. “Never heard of her.”

A short ride on the London Underground found the two of them walking along the banks of the river Thames. Ginny tried not to breathe too deeply, because the smell of the river was nauseating, but at least the sun was out, and a breeze drifted over the water. It was so warm that Hermione had to borrow a ponytail holder just to keep her hair off the back of her neck. Ginny knew that she did not enjoy the heat as much as she did, so she tried not to walk too fast or too far ahead.

“What do you feel like eating?” Hermione asked, fanning her face with her hand.

“I feel like I could eat a margherita sandwich...and a pickle. I’m really craving a pickle. How about you?”

“Sounds good to me,” came Hermione’s reply. “Do you know where we can find one?”

“I think there’s a cafe up ahead.”

They passed a group of tourists taking pictures along the waterfront, and Ginny ducked out of the way of their cameras. It was a busy part of town, more inundated with foot traffic than anything else. She looked around at the advertisements and signs on the window displays, noting as she did so that she felt almost as comfortable out here as she did in the wizarding world. She wasn’t famous out here; she was just another shopper out enjoying the sunshine. She listened happily to the cheery pop music that filtered through the open doors of clothing shops. 

“You look well today,” Hermione said. “Last I talked to Harry, he said you were really sick.”

“I have been really sick, but I also started exercising again. I think it’s been helping.”

“I read that some exercise is good for the baby, but you should be careful not to overdo it.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to overdo it, Hermione. I’m also recovering from a terrible injury, and I don’t think I’d even be able to handle extreme exercise.”

“Of course,” she replied shortly.

“It is really weird, though,” Ginny said, relenting. “I used to work out five or six times a week, and now I’m only doing yoga and a little bit running every now and then. It’s absolute torture.”

They walked up the steps to the cafe. A rather bored-looking waiter seated them outside on the veranda where they could watch both the bustle of traffic and the parade of tourists along the river walk. There was a red and white umbrella positioned over their table, and Hermione reached up to tilt it so that the sun was out of their eyes. They both requested water, and Ginny flipped through the menu without really caring. She knew exactly what she wanted to eat already.

“You must be very bored at home,” Hermione continued.

“Extremely.”

“Don’t worry, then. When we get back to the Ministry, I’ll introduce you to my boss. I’m sure I could get a good word in for you. Or maybe you could work for the Department of Magical Transportation? They really need some hard workers right now.”

Ginny sighed and put her menu off to the side of the table. “Hermione, I’m not going to work for the Ministry.”

“Then what will you do?” Hermione asked, confused. “Work at the joke shop? Maybe a non-profit like Percy?”

Ginny took a deep, steadying breath, and then reached under the table to pull her messenger bag onto her lap. She unhooked the fastenings and removed both the notebook and the smattering of pages she had already accumulated thus far. A frown line appeared in between Hermione’s eyebrows as she reached for the items, and she passed them over quietly. There was a long pause. Ginny waited as her sister-in-law glanced back and forth between the two. Slowly, the lines in her face relaxed into something very neutral. It was hard to gauge her reaction; six years in politics had taught Hermione how to conceal her true feelings. After a moment, however, she glanced back up at Ginny. 

“What is this?” she asked, gesturing to the notebook.

“When we reinstated the D.A. that year you were gone, Luna kept a notebook of all our activities. It was pretty well scrambled, but we’ve since removed all those protections. I took over the notebook after Luna was kidnapped, and then Neville had it those last few months when I went into hiding with mum and dad.”

Hermione looked back down at the book. “So, this has…”

“...everything you could possibly want to know,” Ginny finished quietly. Their waiter had come back to take the food order, but she held up a finger to request more time. “It has our names, the spells we learned, the pranks we pulled...every step we took to survive.”

“Oh,” was all she said in response.

Ginny watched her flip through a few more of the entries, noting as she lingered on some more than others. After a moment, her eyes slid over to the pages of Ginny novel. It was agonizing to sit and watch her read. Hermione was normally a very quick reader, but this seemed to take her longer than normal. After two or three pages, she set it down. Her head did not immediately come up to meet Ginny’s eyes from the other side of the table. To her complete surprise, she watched as Hermione brushed away a tear.

“You’re...you’re writing a book?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Ginny said, her words rushing out of her in an attempt to be understood. “In fact, we almost burned the damn thing that summer after the war...but we couldn’t do it. We put too much work into continuing the D.A., and we couldn’t just leave it in the past. I know it’s probably not healthy, but I don’t want anyone to ever forget how hard it was to be a kid and go through what we went through.”

“What do Neville and Luna think?” 

She let out a humorless chuckle. “We got super drunk that night. It was at Luna’s house. Her dad didn’t even notice because he was pretty drunk as well. We decided that we would turn it into a book. And somehow, the job of writing became my responsibility. We kept the notebook in Luna’s vault, but I asked for it back a couple weeks ago. They are super supportive.”

There was another long pause while Hermione perused the handwritten pages once again. Ginny, anxious as she was, took a long sip of water from her glass to fill the silence. She hadn’t even been this nervous when she told them that she was pregnant. After several long minutes, she couldn’t take it anymore. “What do you think?”

“Honestly?”

Ginny grimaced. “Give it to me straight.”

“I think it’s wonderful.”

Their eyes met from across the table. Although Hermione’s eyes were slightly red, they were mostly wide with excitement. She returned the notebook and the pages of loose paper to Ginny, who put them back in her messenger bag. The waiter came back to take their orders, and then Hermione resumed the conversation:

“It reminds me of a Muggle book I once read with my Mother, when she was on this classics kick two summers ago. It was called _The Things They Carried_ , and it was by a guy whose last name was O’Brien, I think. The quote was about how a true war story is never moral, and that if a war story tries to teach you morals, it’s not being truthful...or something like that. I’ll have to look it up for you.”

“But I want my story to have a moral,” Ginny said, frowning. “I want people to read it and think, ‘Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t be a dick after all.’”

Hermione laughed. “No, it’s exactly the same message. War sucks.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Ginny mumbled in agreement.

“Anyway, you have to tell me where you learned to write like that. I had no idea you were so good!”

Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know. It just happened. I’ve always been good at writing. Back at Hogwarts, I could crank out an essay two hours before it was due and still get an E without even trying.”

“I’m impressed.”

Receiving praise like that from Hermione was no small feat, and Ginny allowed herself a few seconds of smug pride. “Thanks. Anyway, I was wondering if I could interview you for the book?”

“Of course,” Hermione replied. “Should we do that right now or…”

Ginny shook her head. “No, I’m definitely not ready for that yet. I do, however, want to know if you have anything left over from the original Dumbledore’s Army. I’m trying to collect as much information as possible, and I’m afraid Harry has nothing left over from those years. He’s not one to keep junk around.”

“School notes are definitely not junk.”

“Tell that to him.”

She rolled her eyes in a very Hermione-ish fashion. “Yes, I believe I might still have some things in the attic. I’ll take a look sometime this week. Speaking of Harry, though, what does he think now that you’re a writer.”

To buy herself some extra time before responding, Ginny looked over at a small, gray pigeon pecking at the ground near their feet. She almost laughed; Harry hated pigeons. Then she sighed and resigned herself to the truth. “He doesn’t know.”

“How does he not know?” Hermione asked. “You have more than fifty pages there.”

“Hermione, he’s an Auror. He works twelve hour shifts four days a week and then sleeps most of the remaining three. There’s been plenty of time for me to write.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Of course,” Ginny said. “My goal is to tell him sometime in the next week or two. He’s going back to the swing shift with Ron, and then it will be hard for me to find the time for any real discussion. I’ve just been dreading, that’s all.”

Hermione gave her a long look.

“I can imagine,” she replied carefully.

And they were saved from further conversation by the arrival of their food.


	9. The House in Lincolnshire

### CHAPTER EIGHT: The House in Lincolnshire

At ten weeks, Ginny woke up to find that her stomach looked...different.

“Harry!” she called from the bathroom. “Come look!”

He came as quick as he was able. He wore no shirt, and he was halfway through the process of tugging his jeans up over his hips. Ginny laughed at him.

“What?” he asked, a little indignant.

“Look!” she said and spun a small circle in front of the bathroom mirror for him. 

“I honestly don’t see anything.”

“Look again!”

“Now it just looks like you’re arching your back.”

Ginny glowered at him and turned back to her reflection in the mirror. She was still dressed in her pajamas, but she had tucked the shirt up under arms to expose her belly. Where there had been nothing the day before, she could now see a slight curve outward. True, it was _barely_ noticeable, but it was there all the same. Ginny turned back to him and gestured to it in frustration. 

“Can you not see? Come feel. I swear it even feels different.”

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and then walked over. Ginny could tell he was in a trying mood for some reason, but she held her tongue as he gently pressed his fingers to her stomach. After a moment, his face softened. Ginny gave him a wide smile.

“See?” she said, bouncing up on the balls of her feet. “I told you. That’s your baby in there.”

Harry gave her a reluctant smile. “I never doubted that there was a baby in there. It’s still rather small, though.”

“About the size of a strawberry,” Ginny announced proudly. She walked back into the bedroom with Harry trailing behind her.

“You’ve been reading Hermione’s books?” Harry asked. 

“Just that one book. You can have it when I’m done.”

She went to the closet and started perusing through her clothes, pulling a few down at random that she thought might look nice for the occasion. Harry only stood and watched her. She was in an exceptionally good mood, and Ginny was determined not to let his reticence ruin the moment. Eventually, she settled on a casual yellow sundress. Soon she would not be able to wear such tight clothes around her midriff, so she wanted to make sure that she wore all of her favorite clothes one last time. 

“Ginny,” Harry started.

“Yes?” she replied, setting the dress down on the bed.

He was quiet for another long moment, and then he said: “I haven’t been completely honest with you about something.”

Ginny froze. She stepped back from the bed and turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know what we are doing today?”

“We’re going to look at houses,” she replied, confused. “There’s one near mum and dad’s that I wanted to see.”

She waited as he pulled a shirt on over his head. His hair came out even messier than it was before, but he didn’t seem to notice. To be honest, she was more concerned about the fact that he would not meet her eyes. “We’re also going to look at some properties.”

“Okay…”

“ _My_ properties.”

Ginny paused to consider the implication of his words. His properties? Did she know of any properties that he owned other than their current house at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place? Then it dawned on her.

“We’re going to Godric’s Hollow, aren’t we?”

He gave her a pained smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. We’re meeting an appraiser. It just seems really stupid to have all that land and not use it.”

Ginny dropped back down on the bed and ran her hands over her face. On the list of things she wanted to do today, visit Godric’s Hollow was at the very bottom. She knew why he wanted to go, and if she was being really honest with herself, she should have seen this coming. They were talking about buying a house, and the simple truth was that Harry already owned a perfectly good property out there.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

“Harry,” she said, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “We are not living in Godric’s Hollow.”

“Ginny…”

“We can’t live in Godric’s Hollow. _You_ can’t live in Godric’s Hollow.”

She heard him give a sharp intake of breath. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I didn’t say there was,” Ginny replied shortly. 

She quickly got up and went to the bathroom, peeling off her clothes as she walked. With a couple waves of her wand, she turned the shower on and charmed the soap bottles to hover in the air behind her. Then she jumped under the water and quickly scrubbed herself down. Living in a house with six boys had taught her how to take a quick shower, so barely any time had passed when she stepped back out. Harry was watching her. He handed her a towel.

“Ginny, I don’t think you’re being fair.”

“Is this what we’re going to do today?” she snapped back. “Fight?”

“If you would just consider it for one moment…”

Ginny spun around to face him. She was angry, but still mindful of the fact that she was still only wearing a towel. “You want me to consider it? I’ll consider it, Harry. I don’t think I would be able to raise a child in a house where your parents were murdered.”

“We would tear down the house, of course,” he said, grinding out the words between his teeth.

“That doesn’t matter, Harry James Potter. Do you honestly believe that you could live in Godric’s Hollow knowing what happened there? Do you think you could walk on those streets and not wonder every day if their feet had ever touched the same paving stones? Because that life does not appeal to me. I don’t want to live in the past. This house is bad enough.”

Harry’s face had gone quite pale. She did not stop and wait for his response. Moving quickly, Ginny changed into her clothes, taking care to pull the little yellow sundress up and over her head. It was, perhaps, a little tight around her waist and hips, but it was not obvious. She made to walk back into the bathroom to put on makeup, but Harry grabbed her wrist.

“You said you wouldn’t hold that against me.”

She met his green eyes. “And I won’t, but you need to consider my own preferences as well. I can’t live in a place where you almost died...and you know I’m not talking about the night you stopped Tom the first time.”

He withdrew, looking both hurt and ashamed. Ginny made a mental note to rearrange her schedule. She had been planning to tell Harry about the book that night, but now she knew it would never get done. Part of her wanted to reach out to Harry and salvage this situation before it got much worse, but she knew there was no point. The train had already left the station.

“I’m okay now,” he said, quietly. 

“I know,” Ginny replied, forcing a placating smile on her face. “We might as well meet with the appraiser. I think it’s about time you sold the place.”

They did not speak for the rest of the morning, and indeed, Ginny did not have much to say until they landed in a deserted side street of Godric’s Hollow. It was just as she remembered it; a cluster of narrow, suburban streets around quaint town square. To the West, there was nothing but open marsh land. Most of the little cottages had their windows thrown open to tempt a stray breeze, and the grass was lush and green compared to the sparse brown stuff that grew in London. Ginny saw the church steeple tower above all of the surrounding buildings, and she heard the laughter of children as they peddled their bicycles two streets over. In a sense, it was idyllic. 

And Ginny hated every inch of the place.

Upon prior agreement, they met the appraiser outside of St. Jerome’s Church. Harry and Ginny lingered on the edge of the car park, choosing not to interact with the little old ladies who sipped tea on the benches out front. The appraiser was a balding wizard with a thick mustache. He reminded Ginny a little bit of a schnauzer dog, and he seemed incredibly eager to be working for the famed Harry Potter. He wrung both their hands with enthusiasm and introduced himself as Marvin Ganders.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Potter and Ms. Weasley,” Mr. Ganders said in a rushed and breathy voice. 

Ginny inclined her head.

“Unfortunately, we can’t step foot onto any of the properties today, but we can certainly have a look from the outside. I’m required to have a contracted Curse Breaker with me when I scope out some of these old homes because you never know what kind of ancient magic still lingers.”

“Wait,” said Ginny. “There’s more than one house?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, there’s three.”

“Actually,” said Mr. Ganders awkwardly, “there’s one house, one blown-apart cottage, and one open field.”

Ginny had to pause and comb through her memory. “I feel like you told me about this, Harry, but I don’t remember details.”

Harry looked to Mr. Ganders for the explanation.

“The first property that we’re going to look at is the one right down the street. It was a cottage here in Godric’s Hollow that was purchased on record by a James Potter in 1979. Previously, Harry’s father lived with his parents on an estate a few miles north of here. That house was actually burned down in February of 1981, so it is currently just a vacant lot. The last property is actually a moderately large house located in Lincolnshire. It was owned by the McKinnon family, of which Harry is the closest living relative.”

“Right,” said Ginny. She remembered everything now.

After the Goblin Rebellion in the summer of 1998, when Harry was given back full access to his vault, he found that he had somehow inherited assets from two major families (the Potters and the Blacks) and a third much smaller family (the McKinnons). Hermione, of course, did some investigating and learned that Harry’s grandfather’s younger sister, Hyacinth Potter, had married a guy named Calum McKinnon. Their entire family had been killed by Death Eaters in the First Wizarding War. 

“Shall we go?” Mr. Ganders asked cheerfully.

They let him lead the way to the Potter Cottage. Ginny had not been back since that awful night in October five years ago, so she was not entirely sure what to expect. They avoided the town square entirely and took a road that lead around St. Jerome’s Church instead. Ginny could see Harry’s eyes stray to the graveyard where she knew his parents were buried. He did not pause, however. They continued onward to Church Street where the Potter Cottage was located about three houses down. At some point in the intervening years, the rest of the second story had collapsed in on itself. Lichen and green ivy climbed up the stone walls, individual branches of the vine had inserted themselves in between cracks to rip apart the foundation with all the strength and patience of time.

Harry grimaced.

“It looks really bad,” Ginny said quietly.

“That is an accurate assessment,” said Mr. Ganders. “As you can probably see, the house is not salvageable whatsoever. Literally, the only value it has is sentimental.”

“I value the sign,” Harry said, pointing to the plaque that rested at the iron gate. 

Ginny admired the twenty-odd years of graffiti adorning the surface. It was impossible to make out the words underneath. “I feel like this should belong in a museum...preferably before delinquents start drawing swastikas on it or something.”

“How much is the property worth?” asked Harry in a resigned voice.

Mr. Ganders scrutinized the place with a practiced eye. “I’d be able to run some numbers for you back at my office, but I reckon you could get a real good price. Godric’s Hollow is a wonderful place to raise a family, and you can bet that someone would probably pay good money to have such a famous address. It would be all over the papers.”

Harry made an irritated noise in his throat.

“Oh, we don’t want to turn this into a carnival, Mr. Ganders,” Ginny said sternly. “This is where his parents died, and we would appreciate it if you treated our situation with a little more sensitivity.”

The man’s enormous mustache trembled. “Oh, I’m very sorry, Mr. Potter. I did not mean anything by it. I should have considered my own words before speaking.”

Ginny watched Harry out of the corner of her eye. Not for the first time, she considered just how hard it was for her to read his facial expressions. She knew that he was unhappy — that much was apparent by the muscle twitching in his jaw — but the extent of that unhappiness was beyond her abilities to discern. 

“Shall we see the other properties?” she suggested.

Mr. Ganders eagerly agreed. They Apparated separately to the next location. Ginny let Harry lead the way because she was not entirely sure where they were going. When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing on a hill directly northeast of Godric’s Hollow. The little town was spread out below them like a map, and she could look out across the marshlands and see for miles around. Harry had still not let go of her hand yet, and she gave it a small squeeze before turning back to him. 

“You okay?” she whispered in an undertone. 

He looked slightly annoyed by her question. “Yes, Ginny, I’m okay.”

“Good,” she said, trying to bring some levity into the situation. “I already like this location much better. Look at all this space to play Quidditch!”

That, at least, brought a smile to his face.

Mr. Ganders whistled appreciatively as he looked out over the marshlands. “Nice view.”

“Where was the house located?” Harry asked.

“My records say that it was somewhere over there,” replied the man, pointing off to a level field somewhere down the hill. 

Ginny looked. Several yards away from them, there was an open space overgrown with grass, weeds, and boulders. It was big enough for a enormous manor house, that was for sure. At first, she couldn’t see anything discernable in the tangled mess of nature, but the more she looked, the more she saw. There was the outline of a building in the compacted dirt, and the boulders were not boulders after all. Instead she saw the corner of a foundation, a crumbling pile of rocks that might have been a garden wall, and the overturned base of a fountain. She let her eyes wander, and she was surprised to see several lichen-covered, wooden posts sticking out of the ground. 

“The Potters bred Aethonan Winged Horses,” said Mr. Ganders importantly, following Ginny’s line of sight.

“How the hell is a wooden fence going to stop a winged horse?” Ginny asked.

Harry laughed at that. She was glad to hear the sound.

“There’s a lot of magic still in this area,” Mr. Ganders said. “I imagine they had wards up.”

And if she closed her eyes, Ginny could still feel the magic as well. The air practically hummed with it; there were so many threads of half-unraveled spells floating in disjointed harmony across the grounds. Some felt hundreds of years old. A few were pushing directly on her body, trying to keep her as far away as possible. 

“How did it burn down?” 

She had posed the question to Mr. Ganders, but it was Harry who answered. “The Death Eaters were the ones who burned it down. It’s actually an open case in the Auror office. No one has been able to figure out who was directly responsible.”

“And your grandparents?” Ginny asked in a horrified whisper.

“They were already dead at that point. Dragon Pox. The house was empty when it happened. I have a theory that the Death Eaters were actually searching for my me and parents.”

“I guess the Fidelius really is the strongest form of protection magic.”

Harry nodded but did not comment any further. 

“Well,” said Mr. Ganders, “I can also draft up a price for this property as well. I imagine it would sell for even more money, especially with view like that. Can you imagine what it must look like in autumn, when all the leaves change colors?”

Ginny inspected the trees that sat in clusters all over the hill, and she couldn’t help but agree with him. The property was very nice. Still, it was too close to Godric’s Hollow for her taste. The closest store would be the village, and she couldn’t imagine herself walking down the hill with a baby in tow.

“Shall we see the last property, Mr. Potter?” 

Harry agreed. 

Once more, Ginny let Harry take her by Apparition to the next location. She knew immediately that the distance they had traveled was much greater this time just by the feel of the wind on her skin. They were standing on a gravel pathway in a dense forest. The sounds of a motorway could be heard somewhere off to the right. Ginny looked around curiously at the trees and the green light filtering through the canopy overhead. There didn’t appear to be a house anywhere nearby, just a deserted road in the middle of the woods.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Lincolnshire,” replied Mr. Ganders, clapping his hands once in excitement. “Closest Muggle settlement is Grantham.”

“And where is the house?”

“Just a way up the road. You’ll see it in a second.”

They set off at a brisk walk up a slight incline. Ginny was glad that she had chosen to wear the sundress, because within moments, a light layer of sweat clung to her skin. It was a casual enough outfit for a hike through the woods, which was fortunate because they didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. She let go of Harry’s hand to tie her own hair back into a ponytail. It was humid outside, but not unbearably so. 

“I like this,” she told him. “The forest is nice.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Not good for Quidditch though.”

“No...but that is!”

The path opened up into a clearing. It was large enough for at least two full Quidditch pitches, bigger even than Bargeworthy Stadium. The gravel pathway took them across a small wooden bridge that sat over a gurgling creek bed. There was a garden, but it was overgrown and wild. The house itself was a traditional English country house, though nowhere near as big as some of the magnificent properties Ginny had seen scattered about the countryside. It was built out of a gray stone with a black tiled roof, at least two stories high. It had a peaked roof and two chimneys. If Ginny had to guess, she would have said it contained four or five bedrooms. Like many of the old houses, it had a detached kitchen and carriage house combo. The front room had large, floor-to-ceiling bay windows, but all the glass had been boarded up and shuttered. The roof looked rather thin and shabby in places.

“It’s a lovely house,” Ginny said. “When was it built?”

Mr. Ganders eagerly responded: “Seventeenth century. It was actually passed back and forth between magic and non-magic users for many years. Calum McKinnon purchased it in 1952, but I believe the family lived at their London address for most of the year.”

“They weren’t murdered in the house, were they?” Ginny asked, after the horrible thought occurred to her.

“No,” said Mr. Ganders. “That happened in London. I still remember it.”

And he shivered, looking thoroughly unhappy.

Ginny looked up to Harry. “What do you think of this?”

He shrugged.

“Well, it’s definitely something to consider,” she said. The outside of the house was very lovely, but it was hard to imagine what it would look like all fixed up. “Will you let us know when you can get inside? I want to see what it’s like.”

Mr. Ganders said that he would let them know. 

“Come on, Harry,” she said, forcing a smile back on her face. “Let’s go look at that house in Devon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Poor Marlene McKinnon. In my universe, the McKinnons are related to the Potters. James and Marlene are first cousins, and Marlene has an older brother named Hamish. He and Frank Longbottom are best friends. I have a three-part series planned out for the First War...if I ever get around to writing it.


	10. Oh Boy

### CHAPTER NINE: Oh Boy

At the kitchen table, Teddy smashed jam into his spaghetti. Then he poured a little bit of chocolate milk on it and stirred it all up. Ginny looked at the concoction he had created and tried not to hurl. She pressed a hand to the back of her mouth and turned away. Now that she was nearing the end of her first trimester, her morning sickness was starting to fade, but for whatever reason, she felt bad today. Harry saw her face over his newspaper and immediately intervened.

“Teddy, you’re not supposed to play with your food,” he scolded, vanishing the contents. “There are starving people in the world right now.”

The little boy looked down at his empty plate. “Sorry, Harry.”

“You should apologize to Ginny. She’s not feeling well.”

Ginny looked across the table and saw brown eyes staring at her imploringly. She could hardly be mad at him when he was just so darn cute. As a Metamorphmagus, he was able to change the color of his hair at will, but since he had not yet mastered changing the color of his eyes, it was Remus Lupin’s eyes she saw staring back at her. His eyes were round, innocent, and the color of tree moss.

“I’m sorry, Ginny.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, staring down at the dregs of her ginger tea.

“Are you sick?” he asked.

She nodded. “Mmhmm.”

“You’ve been sick a lot. Maybe you should go to the Healer.”

“You’re right,” said Ginny. “I’m actually going today.”

She looked up at Harry, who met her eyes in acknowledgement over the top of the newspaper. It was noon on a Saturday, the last weekend in August. Harry had already switched back to a swing schedule with the Aurors, which meant that he was working the rest of the afternoon. He was, however, going to take an extra-long break to meet up with her for her appointment.

“Where am I going?” Teddy asked. 

“You’re going to visit Molly,” Harry explained.

“Will Victoire be there?”

Ginny tried not to laugh at his eager face. “No, not today, but you’ll be able to hang out with my dad, though.”

“Okay,” Teddy relented. “But I still wish I could hang out with Victoire. Me and her are best friends!”

“I know you are.”

Harry put down his newspaper and stood up. “Okay, Ted, I have to go to work now. I won’t be back until after you’re asleep, but we’ll go to the park tomorrow morning. Does that sound like a good idea to you?”

Teddy quickly bobbed his head up and down, and his hair changed from black to blue to pink with the movement. Ginny was pretty sure it was involuntary — he never would have chosen pink on purpose —but she decided not to say anything. Harry ruffled the young boy’s hair fondly, and it faded back to brown.

“It’s a deal. You behave for Ginny, okay? She doesn’t feel good, so try not to cause any trouble.”

“I’m a good boy! I never cause trouble!”

“Right you are, Teddy,” Harry replied, then he leaned over and gave Ginny a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

“See you.”

And then in a flash of green, he was gone. Teddy sighed and rested his head on his hands, staring down at his empty bowl with something akin to boredom. Now that it was just the two of them, the house seemed far too quiet. Ginny looked at the little boy in front of her; she had known him almost his entire life. He had only been eleven days old the first time she met him. Everything she knew about babies, she had learned from him. How to change them, how to rock them, how to dry their tears...Of course, they shared the job with Andromeda, but Teddy would always be her first baby. 

“Edward Lupin, have I ever told you that I love you?” she asked, clearing the dishes away with a wave of her wand.

He gave her a bewildered look. “Yeah, duh.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Because I love you.”

“I love you too, Ginny.”

There had been an eye roll in there somewhere, on principle, but the bashful smile on his face meant that he was sincere. Ginny’s emotions — or more accurately, her hormones — wanted her to say more, to tell him that he was going to be a good big brother, but she held her tongue. They had big plans for that announcement, and she did not want to ruin it.

“Would you like to go to the Burrow now?” she asked. 

He nodded eagerly. “Can I ride a broomstick?”

“We’ll see.”

It was sunny at the Burrow, far sunnier than it had been in London. It was the first thing Ginny noticed when she slid out through the sitting room fireplace, Teddy tucked underneath in her arms. The sunlight streaming in through the windows almost blinded her. A freckled hand came into her field of vision, and she grabbed it to drag herself to her feet. Teddy bounced up all on his own.

“Hello, sis.”

It was Percy.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Edward Remus Lupin!” said a loud voice.

Ginny turned to see her father standing in the doorway of the kitchen. With a wild cry, Teddy pitched himself forward into a run and tackled him around the waist. The two of them had a wonderful relationship, probably due to the fact that Arthur Weasley had somehow managed to convince the boy that spaceships were the greatest invention in the world.

“Arthur!” he shouted. “Grandmother got me a book about Apollo Eleven from the library! Do you know what that is, Arthur? Do you?”

“Hmm,” said Ginny’s father, feigning ignorance. “Is that the rocket that took them to the bottom of the ocean?”

“No, that’s silly! You’re silly!”

Their voices carried them out to the garden, and it was hard for Ginny to see who was more excited: Teddy or her father. She smiled and turned back to the sitting room, where her mother was sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea and her knitting needles floating in the air in front of her. Percy had already taken a seat back in the armchair, which he had obviously just vacated in order to help Ginny up.

“I’m no longer his favorite person,” she announced. “Had to squeeze an ‘I love you’ out of him this morning. All he wants is Harry and Dad right now.”

Her mother seemed unconcerned. “He’s at that age; don’t let it bother you. He’s looking for his male role models because he wants to learn how a boy should act.”

“It’s kind of cute when you put it that way,” Ginny replied wistfully, staring through the window.

“Speaking of cute, let me see!” 

Her mother waved the knitting needles out of her face and leaned forward in anticipation. Ginny knew immediately what she was talking about, so she lifted her shirt to show off the baby bump. It still didn’t look like much. At first glance, it could still be mistaken as an overindulgence of chocolate cake, but anyone who knew Ginny could tell that there was definitely something up with her belly. She used to have abs and a flat stomach. Unfortunately, that also meant that Ginny had now abandoned most of her favorite clothes in favor of loose tops. 

“You look very beautiful!”

“Thanks, mum,” said Ginny, falling into the seat next to her. “Threw up twice this morning, feel like a pukey mess, but I’m glad I still look beautiful.”

Her mother unnecessarily rested a hand on her forehead. “Do you still feel sick? Would you like something to snack on? Crackers, perhaps?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Well, let me know if I can get you anything.”

“Thanks, mum.”

For the entire exchange, Percy was both patient and quiet, picking at the fabric of his sweater. He gave Ginny a wan smile when she finally turned to him, and she could immediately tell that something was wrong. There were dark circles under his brown eyes that were noticeable even behind his horn-rimmed glasses. It looked like he hadn’t been sleeping. Or maybe he had been working too much. That was always a real possibility with Percy.

“What’s up, Perce?”

“Just commiserating with mum.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Quit being dramatic.”

“We’re getting evicted.”

She blinked. “You and Audrey? I thought you owned that apartment.”

“Not the apartment. The office.”

Ginny allowed herself a small ‘oh’ of surprise. Percy had been working for a non-profit called MagicLink in the intervening years since the war. There were only four employees: Percy, his wife Audrey, their friend Ricardo, and (the founding member) Lenny Erickson. The purpose of MagicLink was to connect community resources to Muggle families who produced magical children. It had been created after the war, when it had become apparent that quite a few Muggleborns had died after being unjustly locked up in Azkaban. This included Audrey’s father. 

“I’m sorry,” Ginny said, faltering a little. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’m actually supposed to ask you and Harry for donations, since you are our current leading contributor. I hate begging for money Ginny.”

“I’ll talk to Harry,” she said. “I had to give some of my signing bonus back to the National Team after resigning, so I’m not exactly rolling in gold either.”

He gave her a sad smile. “I appreciate it.”

“I do have a hypothetical question, though,” Ginny said.

“Yeah?”

“What if we were to just give MagicLink a permanent office?”

Percy raised his eyebrows. “You have a full office with at least three conference rooms just sitting around somewhere?”

“Hypothetically,” she snapped.

“I mean, I suppose I could take that as a donation.”

“Ginny,” their mother interrupted, her voice loud over the clicking of her knitting needles. “You never told me about that house in Devon. Did you and Harry go look at it?”

“Yes, and it was absolutely infested with Doxies.”

“You can get rid of Doxies,” said Percy.

Ginny shuddered. “No, I mean it was floor-to-ceiling covered with them. I’ve never seen an infestation that bad before, even at Grimmauld Place. They wanted us to put on protective gear just to go inside. There was no way I was going to do that; I’m pregnant! Doxy bites are poisonous.”

“That’s a shame. It would have been nice to have the two of you nearby.”

“You should have seen this other house we saw near Stratford-Upon-Avon,” Ginny continued, struggling to talk through her laughter. “It was literally upside down, and the family was completely okay with selling it like that. I laughed for a solid twenty minutes after looking up at the toilet. Harry had to drag me out of the house.”

That, at least, brought a smile to Percy’s face. She didn’t want to mention the house in Lincolnshire because she was afraid it would bring up awkward questions about the other properties Harry owned. However, the more Ginny thought about it, the more she liked that one. They still had not been inside to see the layout. She was optimistic, though; layouts were a lot easier to change with magic if you liked the outside well enough. 

They talked for most of the afternoon, pausing only to offer Teddy a snack when he complained of hunger. By that point, Ginny also felt well enough to eat. Her mother cut up some fruit and then made a blackberry pie with pickings from the bramble bushes down the road. Percy left soon after, though they all insisted that he take some pie home for Audrey. Teddy fell asleep at the kitchen table as soon as the back door was closed, and Ginny smiled when she saw that his hands and fingers were smeared with blackberry juice. She cleaned him with a damp cloth, and then her father carried him up to her old room on the first floor.

“I’m going to have a really hard time getting him to go to sleep tonight,” Ginny said.

Her father gave her a pat on the shoulder. “That’s what grandparents are supposed to do...load ‘em up with sugar, let them take a nap, and then send them back to you all riled up.”

“I’m glad you think of him as your grandson,” she responded. 

“He’s a boy who needs a grandfather, so I’m going to be his grandfather.”

Ginny followed her father as he walked back down the stairs. “I’m going to go find out the gender of this baby today. What do you think it is?”

“You know your brothers have a betting pool going.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Arthur Weasley laughed. “For the record, I think it’s a girl. Your mother thinks it’s a boy, and most of your brothers are agreeing with her. She was right about Victoire and Niki, so I’m afraid she’s got some kind of sixth sense. We’ll have to excuse her from all future betting pools if it turns out she was right.”

“I’m always right,” her mother called from the kitchen.

“Well, you’ll know very soon,” said Ginny. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

o - o - o - o - o - o - o

In the St. Mungo’s waiting room, Ginny tried very hard not to look like Ginny Weasley. She wore her hair down and kept most of it in front of her face while she read an old copy of Witch Weekly. That didn’t stop a woman from staring at her curiously from across room, as though she recognized her from somewhere. That was when Ginny realized that she was reading a subscription from November of last year, when she had been announced as the new chaser for the English National Team. There was a two page article about her on the inside cover. In Ginny’s (not so biased) opinion, she thought she looked damn good in those pictures. Even though red was definitely not her color, she looked so fit and healthy that it didn’t even matter. It made her feel slightly bitter about the present circumstances.

The article briefly touched upon her relationship with Harry Potter, the Chosen One. It called them a “Power Couple” (whatever that met), and there was a picture of them from Ron and Hermione’s wedding. Ginny quickly put the magazine back on the table and hid it under a few other copies. Speaking of Harry, she was sure that he should have been there by now. She checked her watch, drummed her fingers on the armrest of the chair, and checked her watch again. An assistant healer came out to the waiting room, and Ginny knew — just by looking at him — that he was going to call her name. 

“I’m right here,” she said.

He blinked at her in surprise but went along with it. “Right this way.”

“My fiancé is supposed to meet me, but I think he’s running late. Will you —”

“―we’ll keep an eye out for him.”

She followed him all the way up to the examination room, where she was instructed to change into a plain blue medical gown. She kept her socks on, though, because her feet were cold, and she tried not to sit and shiver on the hard, unforgiving chairs. Then another unfriendly assistant healer came by and escorted her to the bathroom. 

“Pee in this cup.”

“Cheers,” she grumbled.

Once back in the examination room, Ginny checked her watch again and blew out a frustrated sigh. He _definitely_ should have been there by now. Just as she was considering sending him a very unhappy summons via Patronus, Harry burst through the door. He was breathing hard, as though he had just run a marathon, and his glasses sat somewhat askew on his face. She raised her eyebrows, and he gave her an apologetic sort of smile.

“I’m sorry. Lost track of time at work.”

“I figured,” she said, pulling her arms in close to keep the goosebumps from erupting on her skin.

He fell into the chair beside her. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, you made it. I would’ve been mad if you didn’t, though.”

“Had a breakthrough on the Karina Martmouth case.”

“Why are you working on that one again?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “I had some free time, and you know I hate non-closure. Wanted to give it another shot, and it proved to be a good idea.”

“You’re the only person in the world I know who would spend their free time searching for missing, presumed-dead victims of a war from thirty years ago,” Ginny said quietly.

“Maybe...but she was somebody’s daughter.”

She searched his face, noting how it was both familiar unfamiliar it was to her; she knew — on an intimate level — those bright green eyes and that carefully polite smile he always wore when he wanted to mask what he was really thinking. Ginny could only guess what thoughts went through his head on a daily basis, and she wondered which ones he threw away and which would never leave him...like Karina Martmouth and all the other Muggleborns who had disappeared without a trace. And she loved him, both in spite of and because of that dedication to his job.

If only it didn’t make him so unhappy…

Ginny wanted to say something about the hours he kept, but they were interrupted by the arrival of Healer Primrose.

The appointment passed with barely any concerns. The baby was still healthy and thriving despite Ginny’s small size, and she was given another month’s supply of potions to combat the morning sickness (although Healer Primrose assured her that it would stop very soon). At this point in her pregnancy, most of the baby’s important organs were all there. The baby had reflexes, and he/she was also starting to wiggle fingers and toes. Ginny’s back was mentioned a few times, especially in regard to the places where it had been broken, but the fact that she was still able to do yoga erased most of their major worries.

“You’re third trimester will probably be very uncomfortable, unfortunately.”

“My sixth year at Hogwarts was very uncomfortable, but I managed to survive,” Ginny blurted out before she had a chance to censor herself.

Harry’s face darkened. “I didn’t even think about that...does the Cruciatus Curse have any long-term effects that might harm a baby?”

“No,” said Healer Primrose. The question had not alarmed her at all, which meant that she had at least read through their medical files. “As long as Ginny was cleared from all long-term effects, there should be no harm to the baby. The Cruciatus Curse can cause miscarriages, but only if it’s performed on a woman while they are currently pregnant.”

“Good thing the Carrows are in Azkaban,” Ginny muttered darkly.

Harry chose not to comment.

“I am definitely going to tell you to take it easy,” Healer Primrose said, eyeing the two of them very seriously. “You have not had an easy life, Miss Weasley. I don’t know if you are even aware of just how many times you’ve been injured. Even magic can’t heal everything.”

Ginny looked away. She knew that.

“Well, enough talk about serious matters. Would you like to know the gender of your baby?”

“Yes,” said Ginny, sitting straight up again.

She and Harry had talked about it in great detail, trying to weigh the pros and cons of knowing the baby’s gender in advance. In all honesty, Ginny hated surprises. She hated being caught off guard, and it was important for her to feel as prepared as possible after such a rocky start to her pregnancy. Harry, of course, agreed with her. He could hardly disagree. Healer Primrose turned away from them as she worked, stirring a small cauldron of potion that had been made with leftover urine from the cup. A tray had been placed in the center of the room, upon which sat two different, but ordinary plant seeds. As far as Ginny could see, there appeared to be nothing extraordinary about the seeds. The healer then used a pipette to distribute several drops of the potion onto each. She vanished all the supplies and took a seat next to them. 

“Did you know that Muggles use a machine to get an image of the baby?” Healer Primrose said, in a casual sort of voice. “They have to wait until the baby is at least twenty weeks along, and then they use the machine to look between the baby’s leg.”

“Yea, I actually read about all this in a book,” said Ginny.

Harry looked at the both of them, obviously confused. “What exactly are we waiting for?”

Before either Ginny or Healer Primrose had a chance to respond, the seed on the right began to twitch. Little roots popped out of husk, stabilizing it against the bottom of the tray. Then a yellow-golden stalk shot upright and branched with feathered fronds. It swayed for a second, as if in a high wind, then rocked to a standstill. It looked as though it had been growing for months.

Ginny clapped a hand to her mouth.

“That’ll be the barley,” said Healer Primrose. “Congratulations! You’re having a little boy.”

o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Teddy did not fall asleep until it was already way past ten o’clock. She would have been angry at her father for the disruption to their routine (for Teddy always got up at the same time no matter how late he went to bed and no matter how tired he felt in the morning), but she was still far too excited about the news to be angry at anything. They were having a baby boy! No longer did the creature in her stomach feel like a faceless parasite, draining her energy and making her feel sick to her stomach. It was a baby boy. It had a pronoun. _He_ was growing inside her. _He_ would be born in March. _He_ was already so loved.

Her intention had been to stay up and wait for Harry, if only to celebrate for a little bit long...but like all good intentions, it didn’t last. She fell asleep within ten minutes, only to wake up several hours later. The clock on her bedside table said that it was half past two in the morning, but the lights were still on in the bedroom. Harry had been home; she could see his Auror cloak on the floor by the bathroom where he had obviously dropped it. Ginny pushed herself into a seated position and rubbed her eyes. He was not in the bathroom or the bedroom. 

Sometimes, if he were having particular trouble sleeping, Harry would walk downstairs to check on Teddy. This was where she figured he was, so Ginny took off after him. Her muffled footsteps would have gone unnoticed in the giant house if it wasn’t for the bones that popped in her knee as she walked. Still, Harry was not in Teddy’s room. The little boy’s door was open, and she could see the light from the hallway spill onto his sleeping face. He looked so small in sleep, so innocent.

“Harry?” she hissed down the hallway.

There was no answer.

So she crept onward, walking as quietly as she could manage. There were sounds coming from the study, and the more she strained her ears, the more she could hear; distinguishable were the rough sounds of parchment and the occasional sniff of a person fighting the beginning stages of a cold. Was it Harry? Or was it an intruder, digging through their protected documents? Ginny thought of James and Lily Potter, dying unarmed in the safety of their own home. She felt a thrill of panic; her wand was upstairs, resting on her bedside table.

She was foolish, reckless, and naive.

Peering around the edge of the doorframe, she was relieved to find Harry, sitting all alone on the floor of the study. All around him were pages and pages of parchment, situated as though they had been scattered by accident. He held several in his hand, but he was frozen halfway in the act of picking them up. Ginny was surprised to find him so engrossed in his reading that he didn’t even notice her. It was rare that anyone ever snuck up on Harry Potter.

That was when she noticed that the pages he held in his hand were the pages of her book.


	11. Mean and Nasty

### CHAPTER TEN: Mean and Nasty

“Harry,” she said quietly.

He jumped and scrambled around to face her with his wand drawn. Ginny flinched as he stood on several of her pages in his rush to stand up, but she did not react to the wand tip between her eyes. That was not the first time she had found herself in this predicament. When he noticed that it was just her, he relaxed, shoulders falling as the tension left his body. Together, they looked down at the objects scattered on the floor, and their faces both mirrored expressions of guilt. For a long moment, neither of them had anything to say.

Then Harry broke the silence: “Ginny, what is this?”

“It’s my book.”

“Since when have you been writing a book?” he asked, frowning. 

She bent to scoop up a handful of pages. “I’ve been working on it for about a month.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long story,” she said, sighing, “but basically the short of it is Luna, Neville, and I agreed that there should be a book about Dumbledore’s Army...preferably before Rita Skeeter butchers the hell out of it. And since I was the best writer out of the three of us, I got the job.”

The crease between Harry’s eyebrows furrowed even deeper. He looked down at the pages for a long moment, his face shadowed in the dim lighting. Ginny leaned over and tugged the parchment from his hand, stopping only to smooth the creased ends against her upper thigh. They were terribly out of order, and she wondered how they had come to be scattered on the floor. Perhaps she had left it on top of the desk? No, that didn’t feel right; something was wrong. She would’ve never left them out in the open. She carefully — lovingly — rearranged them back into the order that made the most sense to her. All the while, she could feel Harry’s eyes on the back of her neck.

“Why would you keep that a secret from me?”

“Yes, because it’s not like you keep secrets from me,” she snapped back sarcastically.

He blinked.

_Shit!_ Why the fuck did every little thing that popped into her head have to come out her mouth?

“I’m sorry,” she amended quickly. “I didn’t mean to say that so harshly.”

“But you _did_ mean to say it?” Harry asked.

She eyed him warily. “I didn’t tell you because I was waiting for the right time to talk to you.”

That was when she noticed it: the small clench of his jaw that betrayed his anger. Harry rarely ever lost his temper. He was calm and collected...until he wasn’t. He reached down to help her pick up the rest of the pages, and Ginny kept her mouth shut even though she would have preferred to do it all by herself. The last thing he picked up was the notebook, which had been sitting on the floor by the door for some odd reason. His fingers trembled as he flipped through the pages; she was certain he had never seen it before.

“I didn’t know you kept a notebook.”

“ _We_ kept a notebook. It was a shared effort between the three of us.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him flip casually through the pages. 

“ _Patrol Schedules for December Second_?” he read aloud. “Why did you have Ernie and Hannah watching a girl named Maisie Waters?”

Ginny’s heart gave a funny little spasm in her chest. Of all the pages that he could’ve randomly opened up to see, that was probably one of the worse ones. “Oh — well, that’s a hard one to explain. Maisie couldn’t walk around the castle on her own, so we volunteered to help her.”

“Why couldn’t she walk around on her own?”

“Theodore Nott did something terrible to her,” Ginny replied in a quiet voice.

Harry immediately set down the book, his face white with emotion. Ginny wasn’t sure if it was anger, fear, or some twisted combination of the two. He turned around briefly, concealing his face from her. She could see the rise and fall of his shoulders as he took even, measured breaths. Then he turned back around. His face was calm, his body was calm.

“Why are you writing a book about that...that year?”

She cocked her head a little. His words had felt like a challenge to her ears. “Someone needs to do it.”

“No, they don’t.”

“ _Yes_ , they do,” Ginny replied. “Besides, I want to do it. I _need_ to do it.”

Harry looked at her incredulously. He reached back for the notebook, flipped it open to the last page, and held it up to read. It was dated May 1st, 1998, and there was only one sentence written on the otherwise blank entry. Ginny did not need to look at it to know what was on it; she would have that page ingrained in her mind for the rest of her life. It read (in Neville’s untidy handwriting): _Lightning has struck the castle. We are fighting._

“Are you trying to be like Rita Skeeter?” he asked in a hollow voice. 

“What? No, I just told you that I wanted to write it before she got her hands on it.”

“You didn’t ask for my permission, though. You didn’t even ask if I wanted this story to be written at all.”

Ginny raised her head a little in defiance. “It’s my story.”

“Last time I checked, it was _our_ story...and approximately fifty other people.”

“I know,” she replied, not following. “A lot of people were involved. That’s why we need to say something. We need to tell the world about what we did. Dumbledore’s Army was the right thing to do, and I know that sharing our story is the right thing to do as well.”

“What if I don’t give you permission to publish it?”

Ginny blinked in surprise. She hadn’t anticipated that. His words felt like a gut check. “Well, okay then. I guess it will just be a book for me.”

“For you? Is that what this is? An indulgence?” he asked, his words increasing in volume and tempo. “So you didn’t ask me and you didn’t tell me? I don’t understand why you are being so selfish.”

Ginny felt something snap inside her brain.

“You don’t understand?! What is there to understand?! Do you honestly think I’m just doing this for the attention, Harry?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“I’m not doing this for me! I’m doing this for us! We deserve to have our story down on paper, where it will exist forever. There needs to be justice in this world.”

“Justice?” Harry said. “I’m the one who put them in Azkaban! That’s the only justice that we need. They won’t hurt anyone ever again. What good do you think a book is going to do except bring up all these bad memories?”

“You really don’t understand what’s going on, do you?” Ginny snarled. “Do you honestly think those people were just a bunch of bad eggs? News flash, Harry, there will always be bad people in this world! There will be other wars...but we can’t do anything to prepare ourselves because you never want to talk about the war we lived through. You never listen to me when I try to bring it up. How could you possibly understand that I would even want to talk about it? How could you possibly understand that I need to talk about what happened to me?”

They were now two figures standing in juxtaposition of each other...Ginny on one side of the study with Harry on the other. She was still clenching the book to her chest, breathing rapidly. There was fire rolling just beneath the surface of her skin. Harry tried to match her tone of voice: “No, I hear you loud and clear. You’re always trying to bring up the war; always using it as an excuse for one thing or another. You never take ownership for your own actions, yet you still try to bring up things I did in the past to justify your feelings. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want the war to define who we are now!”

“That’s exactly why I’m angry, Harry! You can’t deny that the war doesn’t influence every little thing we do. It happened. We can’t hide from that fact! We’re not normal. We’ll never be normal. Stop trying to make us normal!”

“I’m trying to move on!” Harry yelled. “You said you wouldn’t hold that against me!”

Ginny slammed her papers back onto the desk. She felt the curious sensation of her shirt riding up against her stomach, snagging slightly on the bump that was just barely noticeable. _Their son_...they hadn’t even had a chance to properly celebrate the news. “We haven’t moved on, Harry! Things have not gotten any better! And you want to know why?...Because we haven’t changed a damn thing! I worry about you all the time. I watch your face for the slightest indication that something might be wrong. Do you know how exhausting it is to live like this? You fucking brought up Godric’s Hollow, and now I can’t stop thinking about what happened that day, and I —”

“Please don’t, Ginny...” said Harry in smaller, much quieter voice.

“Is this how we’re going to raise our son?” she asked. “Are we going to teach him that the only way to address a problem is to keep it bottled up for as long as possible until he feels like it’s too much for him to handle? Until we’re yelling at each other?”

Harry didn’t have anything to say in response to that. He stared at her, eyes wide and chest heaving. Now that the words had tumbled out of her mouth, Ginny found that her anger was slowly getting replaced with guilt. It spread through her veins like poison, cooling each little fire that had burned inside her. She wanted Harry to say something, anything really, but he only shook his head. He then took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and walked right out into the hallway. Ginny heard his footsteps on the staircase.

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the wall, wanting more than anything to take it all back.

“Why are you yelling?” said a tiny voice.

Startled, Ginny spun around. Teddy was standing in the doorway of the study, looking quite disheveled in his blue pajamas. He had one tiny, curled fist rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and his hair was once again it’s normal shade of dusty brown. Ginny quickly crossed the study and knelt down beside him. 

“I’m so sorry, Teddy, did we wake you?”

He nodded, bottom lip quivering.

“Don’t cry,” she said, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. “Everything is fine. We were just having a...a disagreement. I forgot to use my indoor voice, and now I feel really bad. Do you want me to tuck you back into bed?”

He gave another pitiful nod. 

Ginny grabbed his hand and led him back up the stairs to his bedroom. Harry was nowhere to be found in the hallway. The soft, warm glow of a fairy light hanging near the ceiling illuminated enough of the room that she was able to see to help him crawl back into his little bed. She tucked him up to his chin and then smoothed the creases. Teddy had a stuffed wolf that they had given him for his first birthday, and he pulled it close to his face. He was too young to understand the symbolism. 

“Go back to sleep,” Ginny whispered, kissing him on the forehead. “I’ll stay with you for a little bit.”

“I love you,” Teddy said.

She let him lace his fingers in between her own. “I love you too.”

When he was finally asleep, breathing slow and even in silence of the house, Ginny went back out onto the landing. She heard a sound and turned to find Kreacher skulking in the darkened doorway of the drawing room. He didn’t say anything, but she frowned at him for his creepy behavior. He held her gaze for a long moment before turning to shuffle back down the stairs. Ginny shook her head; she still didn’t trust him.

Slowly, she proceeded upstairs to the master bedroom. The door was open. The flickering light from the streetlamp fell across the bed she shared with Harry. He was already lying down on his side, facing the opposite wall. Ginny could see the profile of his shoulder, and she could tell by the tension in his body that he was still awake. Cautiously, she crawled under the covers next to him. 

He didn’t flinch when she reached for him, and she took that as an invitation to pull him in closer. Harry rolled over onto his side to face her, and she pulled his hand up to her lips so she could place a kiss along the scars on his skin. He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then she inched closer to tuck her head underneath his chin. That was how they liked to hold each other. Harry’s hand slid under the hem of her shirt, and his fingers were warm as he caressed the small bump of her stomach. They fell asleep like that, though it took a very long time. Ginny couldn’t help but wonder who she could be so close to someone and yet struggle so hard to find the right words to communicate with him.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Teddy woke up at six, just as he did every morning. Thankfully, however, he only came upstairs to crawl into bed with them. Ginny sleepily scooted over to make room for him as he squeezed himself between their two bodies. He was very warm, like a little furnace, but she didn’t move for fear of spoiling the moment. After a couple of minutes, the boy was snoring again. Ginny caught Harry’s eye from where he lay on the opposite pillow, and she was pleased to find him smiling.

It was Sunday, which meant that they were due at the Burrow for lunch with the rest of the Weasley family. They spent most of the morning lounging around in the pajamas, not saying much on purpose. Their late-night argument still lingered in the air between them, and that awkwardness even carried over to their conversations at the Burrow. Ron and Hermione, of course, noticed it immediately. 

“I’ve been tasked with talking to you,” said Ron as he dropped onto the ground next to her.

She was sitting in the apple orchard with a book on her lap and a cold glass of lemonade in one hand. Truthfully, she wasn’t really reading because she had also been charged with the job of watching Teddy and Victoire, who were digging in the dirt a little ways from her. Their niece’s shrieks of laughter filled the air. Ron smiled at them.

“Tasked by who?” she asked.

“Hermione. Who else?”

Ginny leaned over to look back at the house. Sure enough, Hermione had pulled Harry aside and was talking to him on her own. He looked incredibly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation; his eyes were averted, and he was kicking at a tuft of grass with the toe of one of his sneakers. Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother.

“How did you know?”

Ron scoffed. “You’re my sister, and Harry’s my best friend. I know you better than I know myself sometimes. Also, Hermione has this obsession with immediately solving all the conflicts she doesn’t create, so she could tell the second you walked into the room. We drew straws. I lost.”

“Lucky me,” she said sarcastically.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“Fine.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the two children play in front of them. Victoire was really into whatever they were doing. She had her shovel clenched fiercely between her two small fists, and she was attacking the hard, dry ground with astounding force. There was even a bit of dirt smudged on her cheek and on the front of her checkered pinafore. Ginny had a sudden vision of a small boy sitting between the two of them. Maybe he had green eyes and black hair. Maybe he had freckles. 

“We had a fight last night,” Ginny blurted out, the words escaping before she even had a chance to censor them.

“I gathered as much,” said Ron. “About what?”

She sighed. “It’s a long story, and I don’t really feel like going into detail.”

“Mmm.”

“I have a question, though.”

Ron looked at her, his eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“Do you and Hermione ever talk about...you know...past traumas and stuff.”

If her brother was surprised by the question, he did not show it. Instead, he leaned back against the tree and crossed his arms, looking contemplative. Over in the background, Teddy and Victoire gave cries of triumph; they had finally hit the part of the soil that was still damp from the rain earlier that week. 

“Quite frequently,” Ron finally said.

Ginny’s heart sank.

“But I wouldn’t claim to be an expert on that,” he quickly amended, noticing the look on her face. “Appropriate communication is something Hermione and I are still working on, but we’re a lot better than we used to be. At least, that’s what our counselor keeps saying.”

The last part was uttered with a little hint of derision. It was not a well-known fact, but Ron and Hermione had been seeing a relationship counselor on and off again for the last two years. They had been, and would always be, the type to argue frequently, but at least they were learning the appropriate boundaries. Ginny had always considered herself to have the healthier relationship compared to her brother’s, but in all honesty, Ron and Hermione were more willing to accept their shortcomings. 

“I just…” she started. Then she faltered because she was unsure what to say next.

“Are things bad again?” Ron asked, casting a surreptitious glance at Harry. “I noticed he’s been taking double shifts again.”

“Okay,” said Ginny. “You admit that’s a warning sign, right? Because I don’t think he realizes that we notice, Ron. He throws himself into his job when he can’t handle being alone with his thoughts. He’s also been talking about Godric’s Hollow lately.”

Ron frowned. “That is a little concerning, Ginny, but maybe you’re overreacting…”

“Overreacting?” Ginny snarled at her brother. “I don’t know if you remember, Ron, but Godric’s Hollow is where he tried to commit s—”

“No!” said Ron forcibly. 

They both flinched and then glanced up at the two small children. Neither Teddy nor Victoire seemed to notice that they were talking about anything of consequence. They were too busy making mud pies and yanking earthworms out of the soil. Ron looked back at Ginny; the expression on his face was the fiercest she had seen in a long time.

“No, Ginny,” he repeated. “You know just as much as I do that he was not going to do that. He was in a really dark place back then and he called us for help...which is exactly what he should have done. You cannot hold that against him.”

Ginny clenched her teeth She felt a little bit like crying, but there was no way in hell she was going to do that in front of her brother. “He already left me once, Ron. Now I’m pregnant, and I have no idea what I’m doing or how I should feel, and I’m worried that he won’t be able to handle it.”

“He won’t leave you. You should have seen him when he yelled at” — Ron glanced guiltily at Teddy — “ _somebody_ for leaving his pregnant wife. He was downright furious. Harry wants to have children. He wants a family, and he will do everything to make sure that he’s a good father. You know that, Ginny. I know you do.”

Ginny didn’t answer. She drew her knees up to her chest and stared moodily across the apple orchard. 

“Look,” Ron continued. “Here’s the deal. When Harry is struggling, he shuts down. He bottles it all up until he reaches a breaking point. It sucks, but that’s how he copes. When you’re struggling, you get mean and nasty.”

“Excuse me,” Ginny snapped.

“It’s the truth. I’ve been on the receiving end of it for many years...but that still doesn’t erase the fact that you’ve had plenty to be mean and nasty about. You’ve had a shit go of things, Ginny, and it’s made you defensive. You just have to know that about yourself.”

She didn’t immediately respond to that, choosing instead to rip up the grass by her feet while she searched for the right words. “What do I do then?”

“Well, Hermione’s over there probably trying to convince Harry that you guys need to go talk to that Ministry counselor again, so be prepared for that,” said Ron, scratching the back of his neck. “My advice, however, will be to choose a neutral ground and hash out whatever it is that you need to talk about.”

“Like in public?”

“Yeah — I mean, don’t let people overhear you because then it will be all over the Daily Prophet — but you are more likely to argue fairly when you both have to leave together. That’s something Hermione and I have had to learn the hard way.”

Ginny opened her mouth to say something sarcastic about the number of times she’s had to listen to them bicker in front of her, but Ron’s words about her tendency to get mean and nasty held her back. Perhaps her brother was right. Maybe she really was the one creating all the drama. She wasn’t about to admit that out loud to him, though.

“Ugh, I just want it to be March already. I hate being pregnant.”

Ron laughed. “It’s barely September, Ginny. You’ve still got a long way to go.”


End file.
